Return to the Hollow
by Danbamina
Summary: Bad at sums. Icabod finds himself back in Sleepy Hollow,grief-ridden over his beloved Katrina's death,but he's confronted once again by the vengeful Hessian and a new woman enters his life.Helen Williams.Will he get over his grief and solve the case? R
1. Chapter the First

Sleepy Hollow 2

A fan-fiction based on the one done by Tim Burton.

BECAUSE I CAN

And I do realize that I spelled Icahbod's name wrong, I just like it without the H Ok? GREAT! Because it doesn't matter anyway you pronounce it the same.

By: Danbamina

Constable Icabod Crane traveled slowly back to where he'd met Katrina Van Tassel, love of his life, or so he had thought. It wasn't until he noticed her wandering off late at night about three times a week that he'd gone and followed her one night. Little did he know that this act would surely mean her death.

As it turns out Katrina had been seeing another by night, one who was very possessive of his love. Upon seeing Icabod the man pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it at Katrina's head. Icabod had tried to reason with the man, but the man was distraught upon being deceived by his love so, he pulled the trigger and killed her. Seeing his love dead, the man turned the gun upon himself and once again pulled the trigger. Icabod had watched, frozen with horror, as Katrina's limp form fell to the ground at his feet.

It was now his duty to go back to Sleepy Hollow to bury his beloved Katrina, as was written in her will. Everything that was hers was given to Icabod and she had bid him live in the house in Sleepy Hollow. Icabod found he could not deny her wishes, not yet, at least. So he had prepared to travel back to Sleepy Hollow once more, but only for as long as it took for him to forget Katrina and repair his broken heart.

***

Helen Williams sat on her great, black stallion, waiting for the coach to come into view. She felt her horse tense expectantly as the sound of the coach's rattling wheels and jingling harness reached their ears.

She reached down and patted the horse's silken shoulder, "Easy now Admiral, you know the rules. Let them get a good look at us and _then_ we gallop off towards them with the sword raised and you looking ever so ferocious." She told the horse gently before straightening up and pulling her cloak tighter about herself, "That's a good boy." She calmed the stallion and herself, tying the knot that would keep her face and upper body hidden from view, effectively creating the guise of the Headless Horseman.

It was a sort of game now-a-days that she played with the few rare coaches, a warning that if they upset someone, the Headless Horseman would rise and hunt them down to retrieve his own head from their bodies. She snickered to herself as the coach came into view around the bend, still well within woods.

"All right boy, out onto the path." She gently nudged the horse forward, he obeyed, eagerly tossing his head and rearing as they reached the center of the well-worn road. Helen looked at the coach and watched calmly as it came closer and closer.

"Dear Lord! The Headless Horseman!" The coach-driver called out, his unfamiliar voice reverberating around the trees. Helen gasped, this one was new! He didn't know it was joke.

An attractive man stuck his head from the window and stared at Helen. She shook herself mentally and spurred Admiral forward without warning, raising her sword as she did so and swinging it in a circle by her side; she raced forwards, and passed the coach, cutting at the sides above the man's head, missing him by less than an inch. She kept going, she'd turn around later and come back into the village through the back and the coach and its passenger wouldn't be any the wiser for it. Such was the game she loved to play, cruel though it may seem.

***

Icabod looked up to see a sword passing over his head, and promptly fainted.

When he awoke next he was in his old room back in the Van Tassel home. The door opened and he shrank back against his headboard as a figure emerged from the gloom surrounding the doorway. How he had hated that gloom before and now he hated it even more.

A young girl, around what Katrina's age had been by the looks of her, approached him, her ebony black hair swept gracefully into a bun at the nape of her neck and with eyes the color of starlight filled with concern as she set a tray laden with delicious smelling food on the table at the foot of his bed.

"Feeling better are we sir?" She asked him, leaning over and feeling his forehead carefully with cool hands.

"Was I sick?" Icabod asked a bit confused at her actions.

"You had a slight fever and you slept for a good three days. I swear, you look about six times better than you did when they brought you here." The girl picked up a glass of milk and offered it to him, "You really should eat something. The doctor says that you must be suffering from grief."

"Suffering?" Icabod asked, taking a sip of the cold milk and feeling something freezing bump against his upper lip he withdrew quickly, "What's in this glass besides milk?"

"Just a bit of ice. Warm milk doesn't taste so good so last night I set out a bucket of clean water to freeze and this morning I chipped some of it off and put it in that glass. Makes the milk taste better if you drink it before the ice melts."

"Oh." Icabod looked down to see three chips of ice floating on the top of the white liquid, looking slightly forlorn, but to be polite he began to drink it and it was indeed, rather good.

"Now you asked me what I meant by suffering. Allow me to explain. Suffering from grief is when you refuse to eat, sleep, or drink anything because you feel your entire world has crashed down around you. Am I correct in assuming that's how you feel at the moment?"

"Y-yes." Icabod stuttered, surprised by this girl's intuition.

"Of course it is. I went through the same thing not too long ago when…well when that dreadful Hessian came back and lopped off my Dear John's head and stole it away. Lucky for me my Dear John left me Admiral to look after. And you can't let a horse like him go unattended for too long, else that kind of horse will go back to his wild ways quicker than you can blink an eye." The girl started chatting easily about how to keep a horse as grand as hers in top condition all the while taking perfectly good care of Icabod.

"Now then, how about you try some of this bacon?" The girl took away Icabod's now empty milk-glass and held out a small plate with two strips of bacon on it.

"No thank you." Icabod tried to get up but the girl placed a hand on his chest and pushed him firmly back onto the bed.

"Not until you eat some real food Mr. Crane. I won't allow you to leave this house or this bed until then." She leaned down and proffered the plate again, "Now how about that bacon, hmm?"

An hour of useless arguing later Icabod emerged from his home with a full belly and a clean suit of clothes on, the girl guiding him to the cemetery where the funeral would be held in a little while.

"How long is 'a little while' exactly?" Icabod asked her, disliking the way she had looped her arm through his and how she refused to let him walk by himself, it was like he was going to faint any minute.

"Oh about two hours but by the time we get there it's only going to be fifteen minutes!"

"It takes us fifteen minutes to walk there."

"Well then. Aren't we the smart one now?" The girl removed her arm and stopped his by grabbing his bicep in a strong grip, "And I'm being so rude! Here I am knowing your name and you don't even have the slightest idea as to who I am."

"S-sorry?"

"I'm Helen Williams. Katrina's best friend! Pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Crane." The girl curtsied and continued walking, continuing to talk about horses. Icabod followed her, glad that she had removed her arm from his and was walking ahead of him, leading instead of guiding.

The funeral was a lovely affair; someone had decided to go into the woods and pick a large bouquet of Katrina's favorite flowers and place them on her already closed grave. And the Reverend said all of the rights again, just for Icabod's sake.

"Why is she already buried?" Icabod whispered to Helen, staring at the mound of earth that was now his love.

"Oh. You see sir, we waited as long as we could but the smell…well it was enough to make the strongest man vomit. Took us forever just to bury her." Helen replied, dabbing at her eyes with a light blue handkerchief, "Poor dear."

"Yes. Poor dear." Icabod repeated dryly, refusing to allow the tears gathering behind his eyes spill down his cheeks.

***

AUTHORS NOTE: YAAAAY! I wrote a chapter in about five minutes AND a new OC! WHEE! Anyway, I thought I would let you all know that is based upon the MOVIE version (did I say that before? no matter I said it again). Ummmm, yeah. Review it. Read it. Enjoy it (as much as you can) aaand I'll update it soon Ok? COOL! Go you people who actually read this!


	2. Chapter the Second

A gun shot rang throughout the Hollow, disturbing the early evening silence. The man who had fired the gun watched in horror as the Headless Horseman picked himself up again, remounted his horse and came charging at him. Frightened the man ran, terror giving wings to his feet, but the huge black steed soon caught up with him. The man felt the sword an instant before he died, the searing hot blade slicing through his skin and sinew and bone like a heated knife through butter. And then nothing.

The Horseman galloped on, turned around and came back for the head before returning to his grave.

***

Helen was riding Admiral, as was her custom these mornings and feeling especially at ease as her horse cantered easily towards town. A small bay horse came flying towards her, passed her and upon further investigation, headed towards Mr. Crane's home. Concerned she headed back, forgetting her errands and her morning ride completely in her anxiety to see what was happening.

"The Headless Horseman has struck again!" the unmistakable voice of Red Robertson came from the front porch, Icabod stood just inside the doorway staring at the slight boy in front of him, "I swear it sir! He's back and that's two people within a week of each other. You have to do something!"

"What's all this running and shouting about?" Helen asked calmly pulling Admiral to a stop and dismounting gracefully.

"Helen! The Hessian! He came again last night, killed my brother he did. You know Thomas. Thomas is dead!" Red panted coming over to Helen and leaning on her, crying into her shoulder, utterly spent from his ordeal.

"There. There. It's alright." Helen soothed stroking the boy's hair gently, "Everything will be fine, you'll see. Now then dear, why don't you go and get the townspeople to see the body? Mr. Crane will be along shortly, just as soon as he can get a horse for himself."

"Aye. That I'll do." Red stood back and wiped at his tears hastily before getting on his small horse and trotting back to the town as quick as he dared.

"Now Mr. Crane. I realize this is a bad time but you really must help us. Here, I'll lend you Admiral here. He's a right good horse; get you where you going in no time at all." Helen handed Icabod her reins.

"Why should I help you people?" He asked her taking the reins and getting on the horse.

"Because, Mr. Crane, you're the only one who can." Helen said simply, swinging up behind him, "Now then, hand me those reins and we'll be off."

"Now wait just one minute!" Icabod protested but she had already taken the reins and kicked the horse forward.

"Come on Admiral! Straight to the scene of the crime with you!" She shouted, bending close to Icabod's back, forcing him to lean over the horse's muscular neck.

***

Icabod looked at the stump of neck that was left of Thomas Robertson's head, and quickly drew back, "I see. It's a classic Horseman trade mark. Cauterized wounds, no scorched flesh or blisters."

Magistrate Johns looked at his friends and ventured a question, "That's not normal is it?"

"Not in the least bit." Icabod stepped away from the body, examining the ground around it, "Same gigantic stride, turned around here, took the head and went away. The Horseman doesn't change his ways at all does he?"

"They've been effective for hundreds of years why should he?" Red asked meanly.

"Because people start to realize patterns, my dear boy." Icabod glanced at the gathered crowd, "I suggest we take the body back and bury it."

"Right!" Reverend Smith stated and clapped his hands, "Someone go get the coffin cart please and we'll bury him quite promptly.

"Come along Icabod!" Helen called cheerily from her horse, "We must be going now!"

"Coming." Icabod called back softly, walking slowly over lost within his thoughts.

***

"Why would someone want John Roberts and Thomas Roberts dead?" Icabod asked himself aloud as they cantered back towards town.

"I don't know perhaps they wanted the money that they inherited? Like last time?" Helen offered.

"How much money did they inherit?"

"Only the second largest estate in Sleepy Hollow next to yours, but why does that matter so much?" Helen was utterly confused.

"How much is that worth exactly?"

"Oooh, round about…well almost as much as yours. I can't put an exact figure to it but it's quite a lot of money." Helen shrugged and pulled Admiral to a stop, "Anyway you need yourself a horse. Let's go get you one."

"We can't do that. We're in the middle of investigating the return of the Horseman." Icabod protested loudly.

"Well you still need one. And while we're in town I have a few errands to run and you can start asking people questions who may know just a little bit more than I do. Like Red Thomas who is now in-line for their father's estate, seeing as their poor mother died."

"Very well. A horse will be helpful in the long run I suppose." Icabod reasoned with himself as they picked up a very bouncy trot and headed towards the village, "Can we walk or go faster?"

"Unless you want to take thirty minutes getting there or exhaust my horse, no. Now stop your whining Mr. Crane."

"I'm not whining!" Icabod's words came out fractured by the bouncing of the horse's large, quick stride. Icabod was nearly thrown from the horse as Helen pulled him to an abrupt stop, hastily righting himself he craned his neck around Helen's shoulder to see what was going on.

"Oh my." Helen breathed her quiet voice barely audible in the gloomy late afternoon silence.

"What? What's going….oh. Let's go shall we?" Icabod stared, horror stricken at the great black steed standing serenely in front of them, the horse's huge bulk was nothing compared to the rider's appearance. The rider wore old and tattered clothes and was missing his head completely.

"Y-yes. I think that would be best. We can get you a horse tomorrow." Helen stuttered out, turning Admiral, "Please hang onto my waist, Icabod."

"Why?" Icabod asked looping his arms around her waist anyway.

"Just do it!" Helen spurred Admiral and they leaped into a flying gallop. The horse ran off of the fear of its two riders, going into full flight mode, all Helen and Icabod could do was try and remain seated as the horse raced further and further away from the apparition.

Icabod glanced behind them to see an empty road, why was the road empty? "Wait! Wait! Stop the horse! STOP THE HORSE HELEN!"

"What!?" Helen drew back on the reins, Admiral stopped with a shower of dirt spraying from beneath his iron-shod hooves.

"We're not being followed."

"What?"

"We're not who he's after today! Turn around! We must get back to the village!" Icabod kicked at Admiral's flanks, the horse responded by bucking him off, Icabod let out a cry of surprise an instant before hitting the dirt in front of the horse, "Ow. Stupid horse."

"And a good thing too! I don't know about you Icabod but I would very much like to keep my head where it is. On my shoulders." Helen told him firmly from the back of her horse.

"Get off the horse, Helen."

"Why should I?"

"Because you like your head and I don't like mine. The house is right around this bend. Go there and wait for me please."

"Icabod you can't be serious, going back there to confront the Horseman on your own!"

"I've done it before." Icabod walked over and gripped Helen's leg and pulled her from the horse's back, "And I can do it again!" He swung into the saddle and stuck his feet in the stirrups, Icabod kicked Admiral in the sides and the horse shot off into the growing darkness.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well now isnt this interesting. IT seems Icabod has grown reckless and a bit stupid in the absence of Katrina. What will happen when Icabod reaches the village? Will Helen rip him limb from limb (figuratively) when he gets back (if he gets back at all) for stealing her beloved horse? Read the next one to find out! Oh. and Review this. I like to hear what other people think of my writing. THANKS FOR READING IT THIS FAR ANYWAY!!! :D

All the Love

--Danbamina


	3. Chapter the Third

**Author's Log: Good day my fair readers! It is a pleasure to present you all with this next chapter. But first I do believe that some thanks are in order. First of all, a gracious thank you to LINALOVE for reviewing and inspiring me to continue on with this story, you have my undying gratitude. Second of all, thank you to everyone who has read this. Please, do read this next installment and see what Icabod, Helen, and the residents (alive and dead) of Sleepy Hollow are up to.**

**Good night my Fair Readers, until we meet again.**

**Danbamina**

Red Thomas stuck his head out of the large house he shared with his younger sister and mother, "Mary! Mum says to come inside! It's getting late!"

"All right!" Mary's distant voice replied from their back garden gate, "I'll be there in a minute!"

"Hurry up!" Red withdrew his head and went back into the warm interior of the manor house, shutting the big door and the cold out along with it, "She'll be in, in a minute Mum." He told his elderly mother, bending to stoke the fire back into a roaring inferno.

"Of course, love." Mrs. Thomas patted her youngest son's shoulder comfortingly, "You're father would be so proud of you." Mrs. Thomas bent her white head down and kissed him gently on the cheek before bustling back to her rocking chair and knitting needles.

"Thanks Mum." Red glanced back at her, feeling a tear leak from beneath his light lashes.

"Get your hair out of your face, love, how will the ladies see it if you're hair is all in it?" Mrs. Thomas scolded gently; her sons' deaths hadn't really ever sunk into her dazed mind, which had been left that way after her husband's tragic drowning.

"Course Mum." Red brushed his hair from his face and stood up. A shriek of fright came from outside, "What was that?"

"Maybe it was your brothers, finally coming home at last?"

"Yeah….WHOA!" Red stepped away from the fireplace as it flared up, a horse's whinny and then rhythmic thudding of boots on wood, "Mum. I think you'd better go to bed now."

"Why?"

"Now." Red rushed over and picked his mother up, "Bed." He set her down in her nearby bedroom and closed and locked the door from the outside, just as the front door burst open. The Headless Horseman stood on the threshold turning from side-to-side his sword and ax drawn, his cape blew around him in a gust that came in from outside.

Red grabbed the poker from the fireplace and advanced towards the Horseman's dark form, the Horseman drew his sword and ax and swung them around impressively, as was his usual style, before attacking Red.

Red was no inexperienced fighter, but he couldn't hope to hold the Horseman off for long. After all, Red reasoned with himself, he was only fourteen and the Horseman had years of experience in battle and was considerably older and much more dead than poor alive Red. The scuffle didn't last very long, the Horseman had soon disarmed Red and with one fell slice of his sword lopped his head clean off.

The Horseman then picked the head up by the hair and proceeded towards where Mrs. Thomas was waiting with bated breath to see who would come through the doorway. Her victorious son? Or the dreadful Horseman?

Inevitably it was the Horseman who broke the door down. Mrs. Thomas stared at him, her eyes darting from the head in his hand to where his head should have been and back. He advanced ever so slowly, as if this was an honor for her, giving her time to see his regal entrance, (despite the rudeness it was none-the-less regal) the way he walked purposefully toward her….

She opened her mouth to utter a scream but it died in her severed throat. The Horseman bent and picked up her head too before leaving his killing grounds. He stepped up to his great, black steed, Daredevil and stuffed the heads in his black velvet bag before mounting and riding furiously off, like a bat out of hell.

***

Icabod rode his "stolen" horse just as furiously as the Horseman rode his, only going towards the killing grounds and not away from it. Admiral galloped powerfully on.

"Blast them for living so far away!" He shouted out loud, his words being whipped away in the wind flying past his face. As he drew closer he fancied he could hear a girl's scream on the growing wind, "Hup boy!" He called to the horse, driving his heels into the animal's sides once again, "I know you can go faster!" He goaded the horse on to even greater speeds.

At last! They came into view of the large house, just in time to see the Horseman mount his horse and speed away. A sense of dread filled Icabod's stomach, causing him to slow his horse to a stop and stare after the Horseman's swiftly retreating figure, dumbstruck. _This can't be. Not again! _Icabod got off of Admiral, loosely looping the reins of the tired horse over a fence post and walking in a daze up the paved walkway leading the broken front door.

He entered the freezing house, took stock of the two decapitated bodies with the classic cauterized wounds, "I don't see why. Why not _me_? They'd only have to kill one person if it was me. Why exterminate an entire family this way? _Why_?" He sat down on one of the remaining chairs in the room, placing his head in his hands, "Surely not the money. There's something much more sinister going on here. Much more sinister." He shook his head in dismay, these people, all the people of the Hollow were in grave danger and he had no idea why. If not for money, what for then?

Icabod couldn't grasp it. He just couldn't. His rational mind was completely scattered on this wind from hell. This wind was the thing that had brought him here little over a year ago, had now inadvertently brought him back, and it was what was keeping him here. Icabod felt as if he were on the verge of tears, not of sadness but the angry, frustrated kind.

That's when he heard the sounds of rapid hoof beats on the dirt road outside, the change in volume as the horse ran up the paved path, and then the whinny as it came to a stop. He stiffened as the sound of boots on the wooden porch grew closer and closer. But he didn't move. He had decided that he would accept his fate as it came to him. He let tears leak from behind his closed eyes and down his cheeks, all the frustration had ebbed as the boots got louder, now he cried for his own death, shedding tears for the good of himself for the first time in years.

At the moment the boots stopped moving he gave up all hope he had that the Horseman would just go away and forget him.

"Oh Icabod…." A voice said softly, he felt thin arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him to a soft bosom, he opened his eyes to see Helen's customary white riding cloak with its embroidered blue birds staring kindly up at him pressed against his cheek, he still felt the tears coming, but what a shame it was to stain this lovely cloak, she stroked his dark hair gently, "I'm so sorry….but if you'd have been here he would've killed you too you know." She whispered in his ear, her breath tickling it lightly, "And if that would've happened…." She broke off. Icabod could hear her breathing grow slightly ragged for a brief moment and her stead heart beat seemed to fade for that one moment before returning as strong and loud in his ear as before.

"Why would he do it though?" Icabod chanced his voice and found that it was steady.

"He doesn't want too. He is being controlled. Notice he doesn't have his head." Helen told him, holding him at arms length and looking sternly at him, "Enough of this crying. I won't have it."

Icabod looked away from her stern, silver gaze, afraid it would bring his freshly stopped tears back, "Of course. Sorry."

Helen turned his face to better look at him, her thumb brushing a tear that was still clinging to his cheek away gently; her gaze had softened considerably, "Icabod. You can't blame yourself for this. It isn't your fault." She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead before getting up and offering him her hand, "Let's go now. And don't you dare ever ride my horse that hard again."

"Again?"

"You rode him here, you bring him back."

"Of course." Icabod took her hand and let her pull him to his feet; she was actually quite strong despite her appearance.

"Lovely. Now then, you have a bit of dirt on your nose." She licked her handkerchief and wiped at the side of his nose. Icabod reached up and grabbed her hand, placed a kiss on the top of it, took her handkerchief away and wiped the dirt off himself.

"You don't need to pamper me. I am a grown man, quite capable of taking care of himself, Helen." Icabod informed her handing the handkerchief back, "Shall we?"

"We shall." Helen passed him and went out the door.

Icabod cast one last look at the forlorn bodies of Red and Mrs. Thomas and whispered quietly to them and Mary, "I'm sorry. I'll figure it out in the end. I promise." He turned and left the house quickly, the bodies were almost enough to make him faint.

**Author's Log: Well it seems Icabod has an admirer, he knows this, but he does not wish to be admired in this fashion just yet. He is far to busy and grief ridden to really care. Will Icabod discover why these murders are occuring when, as he said, whomever is controlling the Horseman could just kill him and get the same amount of money? Keep reading to find out, my fair readers.**

**And as always. REVIEW! The more who review, the faster I update. And a new thing too. TELL YOUR FRIENDS! (I like for people to read my work, makes me happy.)**

**Your Obediant Servant,**

**Danbamina**


	4. Chapter the Fourth

**Author's Ledger: Hello my fair readers. I would like to thank LinaLove for her wonderful support. I tip my hat to you, my faithful reader. Last installment we left Icabod with a possible love in his life and a promise to thwart the Hessian yet again. I do hope my readers enjoy this next chapter. Good day to you all.**

**Your Obedient Author**

**Danbamina**

Icabod bent over his ledger, carefully taking notes as old Mrs. Crowley prattled on and on about the Thomas's and their affairs. Being the most knowledgeable person in the neighborhood when it came to others he had sought her out for information on the Thomas's. Yes, he had gotten a lot of useful information and a lot of unnecessary insights into the lives of the other occupants of the Hollow as well. He was actually regretting asking her to tell him 'everything there is to tell'.

"And you know that young Robert down the street? Well _he's _got himself a girlfriend. That's right, and without either of their parents consent! I saw them kissing out by the Eastern Woods just yesterday! Quite the scandal. And then there's that Miss Williams! Well I won't say a word about her, for that's gossiping." Mrs. Crowley seemed to have at last run out of breath or things to tell that may interest Icabod.

"What is it about Ms. Williams that you have found out, Mrs. Crowley?" Icabod asked finding himself engrossed within the seemingly pointless chatter now.

Mrs. Crowley bent over the table and motioned for Icabod to lean in closer before whispering, "Word around town is she's the controller of the Horseman! I'd be watching my neck if I was you. A woman like that, single, prefers to spend time on a horse than on the ground doing practical things. Well. Who knows what would happen." Mrs. Crowley sat back in her chair, obviously satisfied with herself.

"Practical things?"

"Sewing, cooking, gardening, taking care of her children. That kind of stuff." Mrs. Crowley's nasally voice was laced with frustration.

"She doesn't enjoy those things….and she doesn't have children. Her child is her horse, Madame." Icabod's grip tightened on his pen slightly, to think this woman was accusing someone of murder when she didn't even know anything about said person.

"And that horse! That horse is the very basis of all these suspicions! Have you seen the horse? Oh it is the spitting image of that Daredevil horse that the Hessian rides! She's the guilty one she is." Mrs. Crowley stood up abruptly and grabbed at Icabod's shirt collar, "You listen to me and you listen close, boy. She's the Hessian's maiden and she'll do anything to protect her secret or her lover she will. Even if it means killing you and the entire Hollow."

Icabod reached up and grabbed the elderly woman's surprisingly strong hands and pried them off of his white collar, "Madame. You may want to rethink that last sentence." He said coolly.

"Why should I? It's the truth!" Mrs. Crowley wrenched her hands from Icabod's light grasp and back stepped away from him, her eyes wide with fright.

"Because, Mrs. Crowley the Hessian's Maiden is right behind you and I have a present for you." Helen said calmly and drew a cupcake from her bag; it was iced in bright red with black piping spelling out CROWLEY on it, "its white cake."

"No! No! You're cursing me you are!" Mrs. Crowley flung her arms up in protection of her face and darted through the open door.

Helen laughed at the old woman's antics, "Crazy Crowley. Really she knows a lot but you have to get it from her crazed ramblings. Half the stuff she says is false anyway." Helen turned to Icabod and offered him the cup cake, "Care for it?"

"She's crazy?"

"Sure as I'm standing here before you."

"Did you make me that cupcake?

"Yes I did actually. I just knew you'd be talking to her and she's been saying that since I came up with my favorite joke. Though I stopped playing it that day you came here." Helen shrugged and handed Icabod the cupcake, "You sit down and eat that now, I'll pack up your things." She busied herself with picking up Icabod's various instruments and such and stowing them neatly away inside of his black leather bag. Icabod chewed thoughtfully on his cupcake, enjoying the sweet immensely; sometimes it was nice to indulge oneself just a little bit.

"Be careful of that!" Icabod called out suddenly, reaching over and taking a small rectangle of metal from Helen's hands quickly, "It's special." He explained rubbing a smudge from its gleaming silver.

"What is it?" Helen reached out a tentative hand and brushed her fingers gently along the hinged sides; her light gaze held his own dark one momentarily the question lingering adorably in the frown of her brow and deep within the sparkling starlight of her eyes for the fraction of a second that their eyes met, then she looked away and withdrew her hand.

"Just a picture." Icabod opened the silver case and showed it to her. One side had a painted portrait of him when he was around six years old and the other was a picture of his mother.

"I see where you got your looks." Helen breathed tracing the curves of his mother's profile gently.

"Y-yes, I suppose so." Icabod snapped the case closed and stowed it inside of his jacket carefully before standing up and gathering his belongings and leaving without a word. He mounted his borrowed horse, which by some trick of Fate, was Gunpowder yet again. The old draft horse seemed happy to have Icabod on his back again, but that didn't alleviate his growing fear that everything was beginning to feel like Déjà Vu to him. He trotted on towards the center of town, encountering almost no one; the people he did encounter were quick to get out of his way.

Icabod was used to this by now; most people told him HELLO and then ran away from him. He nodded to a man standing in the middle of the road as he swerved around him and continued on his way to the town square.

"Excuse me, Constable Crane." The man called out he was barely audible to Icabod's sensitive ears.

"Yes?" Icabod pulled Gunpowder around and stopped before the man, "What is it my good fellow?"

"Can you spare me one minute inside my house? It's just over there and this isn't the kind of conversation that should be held outdoors, Constable."

Icabod thought for minute, weighing the pros and cons inside of his mind carefully before deciding anything, "Alright. I'll come inside with you." Icabod dismounted and walked Gunpowder to a nearby hitching post where he tied the old horse securely before following the nervous man into the house small cottage.

"I have some information for you regarding the people who have died, Constable." The man whispered a bit louder than before as he closed the door securely. Icabod seated himself at the small kitchen table and prepared to take some more notes.

***

Icabod left the house, deeply troubled by the information that had been imparted to him, everything seemed to be pointing to Helen but it couldn't be her. She was far too kind and much too intelligent to believe in witchcraft. Though, so had Katrina. Icabod patted Gunpowder's broad shoulder and rested his face against the short, thick neck of the horse, breathing in the acrid but strangely comforting scent of the animal. Quite suddenly Icabod found himself crying into the warm furry expanse of neck, his arms wrapped securely around it, the horse tolerated the contact and something about the reassuring smell and the total aliveness of old Gunpowder made Icabod cry all the harder. He felt as if he let go of the solemn animal he'd fall away into nothing. Eventually he did let go of the horse, feeling utterly spent he made to mount and go home. But as he lifted his foot to slip it into the stirrup he became dizzy and promptly fainted.

The next thing Icabod knew he was waking up on the cold ground, something warm and squishy was pushing against his face. Icabod turned his head to be greeted by a large gray thing that snuffled about his hair and face. Icabod made a small sound of terror, sitting up and scrabbling backwards on his palms quickly to get away from the gray thing. It followed him, but with a few inches separating them. Icabod looked up a little bit to see the rest of a horse's muzzle. Gunpowder had been trying to wake him up. He sighed, relieved, and gently pushed the persistent muzzle away from his face.

"Good horsy." Icabod said standing up and taking Gunpowder's reins in one hand he mounted, "Let's head home." Icabod lightly kicked Gunpowder's sides, the horse remained immoveable, "Don't do this to me, not now. Let's go." Icabod kicked a bit harder, the horse grunted and took one step forward before stopping, "Go forward, Gunpowder!" Icabod dug his heels into the furry sides; Gunpowder flicked his ears back and bucked him off.

Icabod went flying, his arms and legs flailing about spectacularly before landing in a conveniently placed pile of hay. He stood up and brushed himself off. This was no time for a horse to get the better of him; it was far too late to be out, what with the Horseman on the loose. He walked over and remounted his stubborn steed.

"Now, Gunpowder, you listen here. We're going to move and we're going to move NOW!" Icabod kicked at Gunpowder's sides again and the horse moved forward at a slow walk, "Better than nothing I suppose." Icabod sighed, not wanting to risk kicking the horse and getting bucked again.

As they walked sedately onwards Icabod became aware of another set of hoof beats, much quicker than Gunpowder's growing closer and closer. He glanced behind him to see a great black horse come galloping at a reckless pace up the road towards him. In the darkness it was hard to make out the rider. He kicked Gunpowder and as if sensing Icabod's distress the horse picked up a quick canter.

_It could just be Helen out looking for me but best to go as fast as possible straight home._ He reasoned with himself as the hoof beats faded a little. He had never really realized how far away they were from the main body of the village though it had always seemed so short with someone else. But those hoof beats nagging his ear and attention made it seem so much further. He barely noticed when they got louder, and louder, and louder, at last he looked over his shoulder.

"Helen! Stop this now!" He called at the rider, but as the horse got closer he realized it wasn't Helen, it was the Hessian, with drawn sword and a head in his bag, "HELP!" He called out, spurring his Gunpowder ferociously in the sides, the horse reacted instantly, leaping into his bouncy gallop but the Horseman kept pace easily, it was like a race almost except at any moment the Horseman could turn and remove Icabod's head. And now that he was really presented with the problem he found he was quite fond of his head, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!" He shouted out, his eyes fixed on the Horseman's drawn blade.

Another pair of hoof beats presented itself to Icabod's ears at that precise moment, riding even faster than the Horseman and Icabod. Admiral came flying around the bend that obscured Icabod's home from view with Helen upon his back in armor that greatly resembled the Horseman's she had a sword on her also and was charging them down. Icabod's eyes widened in terror as he grasped what she meant to do.

"No! Helen! Don't!" He cried out but his voice failed him in his terror and all he could do was watch and wait for the clash.

Helen reached them in a matter of seconds and as she passed she swung her sword against the Horseman's, with a twirl of her wrist the sword came flying from the hand easily. She pulled Admiral up just as soon as the Horseman turned his steed to go and retrieve his blade.

"Go back to the house Icabod! NOW!" Helen ordered harshly, Admiral reared and struck out at Gunpowder's hind quarters, "Go!"

Gunpowder skittered away from the stallion with a frightened whinny. Icabod looked back to see Helen galloping behind him. The Horseman was no where to be seen. _Yet._ Icabod thought darkly.

They reached the safety of the front porch in good time and tied their horses to the railing, afraid to go into the darkness without the animals. Helen rubbed Admiral's wide forehead lovingly, all the while cooing to the horse about how brave he had been.

"What about old Gunpowder here?" Icabod asked watching Helen place yet another kiss on Admiral's forehead.

"It's your job to praise him." Helen waved her hand at the old horse and smiled charmingly.

"Don't you think we ought to go inside?" Icabod looked nervously around, the darkness was stifling.

"Of course. Go on inside. I know an old horse that would love some attention." Helen moved over to rub Gunpowder's wizened face and coo at him too. Icabod was astounded at how much love this girl had for the animals; they were only animals after all.

"Well, let's go inside shall…Did you hear that?" Helen went absolutely quiet and rigid.

"Hear what?"

"Shhhh!" Helen hissed crouching down a little bit, "Listen."

Icabod strained his ears and heard nothing. He was about to say so when the wind blew and he caught the sound of hoof beats yet again, "Oh….my….God. He's coming for you!" Icabod felt as if he was about to faint.

"I thought so." Helen nodded her head and went to Admiral's side; she drew the long double edged sword from its sheath on her saddle and weighed it in her hands tenderly, "Icabod. Whatever happens….do me a favor all right?"

"What is it?"

"Don't faint."

"What're you talking about?"

"You seem the kind to faint at bloodshed. I'll need you if he doesn't….well you know." Helen grimaced and looked meaningfully at Icabod.

"Of course." Icabod met her shimmering starlight gaze, feeling rather sad.

Helen stepped forward and placed a cool hand on his cheek, "Goodbye Icabod. Be sure not to faint." She smiled sadly at him and walked away, the sword's pale shine marking her progress in the gloom of the moonless night.

Icabod untied Admiral and mounted the great stallion, the horse made a funny whickering noise as Icabod settled himself in the saddle, "Come on Admiral." He whispered, Admiral stepped away from the porch obediently, "Stay here Gunpowder." Icabod instructed the old gray gently.

The sound of metal clashing against metal came floating serenely across the dark lawn. Icabod let Admiral walk at his own pace, following the sound as closely as he could. A shriek of pain reverberated in the eerily still air for a split second before silence fell. Complete and utter silence. The silence was more oppressive than the overwhelming, almost solid blackness of the night. Icabod waited for a few minutes before daring to open his mouth.

"Helen?" He called hesitantly out, Admiral's ears pricked forward and the horse shook his head from side to side, "Helen?" Icabod ventured again, a little louder this time. He strained his ears for anything besides the jingling of Admiral's tack. Icabod called out for her several more times but still the silence dominated all thought, as if reluctant to give up its control over Icabod's rational mind. Icabod gave up all hope and turned Admiral's head for the brightly glowing windows of the house. The moon broke through the cloud cover just then, full and bright, flooding the land with a silver-blue glow, the light, though watery hurt Icabod's eyes after such a long time in the dark, but it was enough for him to see the shape lying, prone on the ground a few feet to his left. _Helen!_ He thought, afraid to speak the word lest she disappeared. The best part though, was that the body still possessed its head.

Icabod dismounted and ran to the body. Bending over it he discovered that it was indeed Helen, her ebony black hair splayed delicately over her delicately carved features, her eyes were closed but she still breathed. Icabod picked up her light form and laid it across the front of Admiral's saddle before mounting himself and trotting off to the house. How had she gotten so far away so quickly? He didn't really care but it troubled him, had the Horseman carried her in the dreadful silence?

Admiral slid to a stop and Icabod jumped off, pulling Helen with him, he burst inside the warm house, "Help! Elizabeth!" He called for the servant girl that Helen had been so kind as to hire.

"What is it, Mr. Crane?" Elizabeth bustled into the room her round face alight with curiosity, "Oh my goodness gracious! We must get her into bed at once! Hurry up now, you know where it is. In the mean time I'll go fetch the Doctor. May I borrow your horse sir?"

"Of course. Go on now. Hurry." Icabod went up the stairs and into Helen's room, it was simply decorated with books piled on what surfaces were available and several oil lamps all were almost empty. Pictures of horses dotted the walls and a large Persian rug covered the area around her large bed. It was to this that Icabod made his way through the collection of leather armchairs and side tables. This blue and cream covered four poster bed with bright white hangings; here Helen could rest and recover. He laid her down tenderly on top over the covers. He took an extra blanket from the top of the trunk at the foot of the bed and placed it on top of her.

"Hi." Helen's soft voice made Icabod jump.

"Oh! You're awake! Thank God!" Icabod placed a hand on her forehead gently.

"You didn't faint." Helen whispered a smile playing with the corners of her mouth.

"No." Icabod knelt down by her head and he lowered his voice, looking into her half lidded eyes, "I didn't."

"Good." Helen reached up, grasped his hand and pulled it from her forehead before letting go and closing her eyes again. How frail she seemed, lying there with the an uncharacteristic pallor on her features.

"I promise I'll catch him, him and whoever is controlling him." Icabod stood up and left the room, unable to think about Helen's demise any longer. He headed up the stairs to his own room. It didn't feel as cozy as Helen's hodgepodge of a room had felt but it was his own and that was all that mattered. He was safe in his own room, in his own house. He collapsed onto the bed and buried his face in his pillow, thinking deeply about the events of the day and all he had found out. Before he knew it he was sound asleep and lost within his tangled subconscious.

***

**Author's Ledger: Ah well, maybe dear Icabod is letting go of his grief, I do believe that what Winston Churchill said about horses is quite true, as it has held that way for me everytime I have ever gone to them for solace. Oh. I am forgetting myself, Winston said that 'There's something abou the outside of a horse that's good for the inside of a man.' My inspiration for the second part.**

**As I was saying before. Icabod may be letting go of some of his grief and anger, softening to the whims of a woman. Ah love. Is it not the cure for most everything in our lives? (Besides horses and time? *snickers* Had to slip that one in.) Anyway, it is still to be decided what will happen. Who is the controler of the Horseman? Why didn't he attack Icabod? Who did he kill? Stay tuned to find out. **

**Your Faithful Author**

**Danbamina**

**PS: I'm trying to set up a regular update day. Perhaps once a week (if I have time), this one day a week where I will update is yet to be decided, when I settle into a good writing time I will alert you via a chapter. And one more thing, my dear readers, please do tell your friends and review. It will make this so much easier to continue writing. Thank you.**


	5. Chapter the Fifth

**Author's Ledger: Good day my faithful readers! It's been an entire week since last I saw you and I'd like to thank my reviewers, _Lina Love_ (as always you've inspired me to write some more on this story) and my newest reviewer _New Gen-Alma, _thank you both very much. This new chapter may be a bit longer than others and though it may not appear it at first, there are some important plot points in these, non-violent passages. Now, my fair readers, I take my leave so that you may pursue this story and draw whatever conclusions you wish.**

**Your Obedient Author,**

**Danbamina**

Helen woke with a start, she looked around herself curiously, how had she gotten here? Where was she? Helen felt the icy grip of panic begin to take hold of her senses before she remembered what exactly had happened. Or what she thought had happened.

Helen tried to raise herself into a sitting position but a searing pain tore through her torso as she moved her arm. Helen quickly lay back down on the bed and began poking around with her right hand at her shoulder, there it was, that horrible stab wound the Horseman had dealt her. Lucky for her she had had the common sense to play dead through the veil of pain. So the armor was simply fabric, it had worked well enough with branches and such, but she hadn't really taken it into her mind what would happen if she ever did get a chance to cross the path of a real swordsman and not someone who just fenced as a hobby.

So the armor had failed, well that's what she got from making it out of fabric and thick paper. But it was time to get the stuff off, it was dreadfully hot and she felt as if she were being smothered. So, gritting her teeth and trying not to pass out, Helen sat up in bed. Gingerly she reached around behind her back and started on the laces that would let her out of the top half of "armor." It took awhile, one-handed, but she did it but pulling it over her head and off of her arms seemed as impossible as traveling to Antarctica in a canoe without a paddle or provisions of any sort.

"_It's got to come off so that when the doctor comes he can look at that wound properly_." Helen berated herself out loud, trying to muster up the courage to remove it, "Not going to." She felt silly having a conversation with herself but if it was necessary she wasn't above it, "_Fine then, just be a baby about it and have some strange man harm you instead of you doing it yourself._ Nope. Still not doing it." Helen was growing frustrated at her own lack of courage so she stooped to the lowest insult that anyone was every called, "_Chicken_." Helen was taken aback by her own words, "What was that? _You are a chicken._ No, I most certainly am not. _Yes you are._ Am not. _You are such a chicken._ I am not. _Then take off the armor, chicken._ Fine I will." Helen reached up and with both arms pulled the armor off of her torso, the pain ripped through her body in tidal waves but she'd done it and now she could lie down and go back to sleep for a little bit. She rested her head against the comfy down pillows and closed her eyes as the pain ebbed slowly away.

"Let's see the patient then." Doctor Roberts burst into the room, his black traveling cloak billowing impressively behind him, Helen's eyes popped open.

"Doctor Roberts, really you can't go bursting in like that! She's in such a state of ill health at the moment!" Elizabeth bustled into the room after the thin Doctor, anxiously wringing her hands.

"Ah, my dear Helen. How did you come to be in this state?" Doctor Roberts sat down next to Helen's head and leaned over her.

"The Horseman stabbed me through my shoulder, Mr. Roberts." Helen said simply, wanting the handsome Doctor to get on with the treatment and then stay for a chat, he was so charming.

"Ah, I see, just like poor old John, Thomas, Red, Mary and Mrs. Thomas." Roberts nodded his head and gripped Helen's wrist, after a little bit he nodded and smiled, "Good strong pulse, good sign." He felt her forehead and frowned a little bit, "Fever, though not as bad as I expected. I'll prescribe something to cool you down soon as I've taken a look at that wound. Now, which shoulder is it?"

"My left one." Helen looked anxiously up at Doctor Roberts well defined features and kind blue eyes, "You're not going to hurt me unnecessarily are you Doctor?"

"Of course not my dear." Doctor Roberts favored her a small smile before gently pulling Helen's collar down to reveal the thin gash in her flesh, "Well, um, this is quite baffling, never seen this before." He frowned as he examined the wound closer, "Quite odd indeed."

"What is it?" Helen asked, the Doctor's lack of knowledge was making her nervous and the fever was starting to affect her senses a little bit.

"Well it seems that your wound needs no stitches, even though it went a good three inches into your shoulder and you have lost hardly any blood at all." Doctor Roberts erased the frown from his forehead and brushed his light brown hair back from his eyes, "It seems you'll make a full recovery once this fever is gone, but you must keep the wound clean and bandaged as best you can." He turned to Elizabeth, "As for the fever, I believe you know better than I how best to treat one, after all, you were the improvised Doctor before I got here. I leave her in your charge, Elizabeth. Now if that is all, I have many other patients to see to. Good day my fair ladies."

"Michael." Helen called out just before he left the room.

"Yes, Helen?" Doctor Roberts turned around and stood in the doorway, his hat in one hand and his doctor's bag in the other.

"Could you do me a favor?"

"That depends on what the favor is."

"Can you tell Icabod that I'm going to be fine? I'd hate for him to worry."

"Of course. If I see Mr. Crane, I shall tell him just that." Michael bowed his head and left the room with a swirl of his cloak.

"Oh my. I do believe every time I see that Doctor Roberts my heart does a million and one." Elizabeth fanned herself with her hand.

"I think he does that to all the single ladies in Sleepy Hollow." Helen stated, "He paid you quite the compliment, Liz, didn't he?"

"Yes, and that's what's got my heart all a flutter." Elizabeth gathered herself together, "I'll just be going to get you that medicine now. And you'll be set right in no time." Elizabeth bustled out of the room, muttering to herself about what were the proper herbs and how to properly clean and dress a wound.

"Good old, reliable Elizabeth." Helen sighed and closed her eyes again, now it was time for sleep.

"Helen! I just heard the good news!" Icabod came rushing into the room, he slid to a stop a few feet from Helen's side, sending books and such flying as he caught his balance by way of a side table.

"Icabod." Helen growled out, tired of visitors.

"Yes?"

"Out. Now."

"But…"

"NOW!"

"Right!" Icabod darted from the room almost as quickly as he had come; this was no time to be around Helen.

Helen allowed herself to fall asleep this time and sank deep into the waiting darkness of her dreams quite eagerly. She woke only once or twice so that Elizabeth could feed her medicine and food during that long day and night after her encounter with the Horseman, and, as sloth like as she was being, she didn't really want to get better at all, this sleep was just too refreshing.

***

Icabod stretched in his warm bed, still a bit drowsy from his slumber, he stuck a hand out from beneath the covers to discover that the room was quite chilly. He shivered and drew his hand back beneath the cozy covers. He lay there for a few minutes, debating about whether or not he should get up now or go back to sleep for a few minutes. He lay in his comfortable, warm bed, feeling very secure and content for several more minutes and decided that since the sun was not up yet, he shouldn't be either. He curled around his knees in the center of his large bed and drifted off into a light sleep.

It wasn't long before the sun came up and pushed its warm light into Icabod's room, he rolled over and opened his dark eyes crack, barely enough to let the uncharacteristically cheerful light in. The light stung his eyes and he quickly closed them again. After a second, he opened them again, all the way this time and forced himself to keep them open until they adjusted to the light.

The room was still chilly but was warming quickly as the sun's rays heated it. Icabod sat up, yawned and rubbed his eyes roughly. There was plenty of time to get _out_ of bed. Being awake was enough for now, at least. Icabod leaned back against his headboard and stared contentedly at the little green mounds in his bed-spread that marked where his feet lay. He clicked his toes and heels together alternately, actually kind of bored. Another long, dull day lay of ahead of him, of that he was sure. Absolutely filled with gossiping neighbors, supposedly kindly women who really just wanted him to become attracted to them, which he wasn't, and they never seemed to take the hint. Icabod sat for a few minutes longer in his bed, brooding over everything he'd learned in the past few days. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again, the sun felt pleasant on his face; maybe he wouldn't get up at all today.

He was so preoccupied within his own thoughts that he didn't hear the door open or see Helen enter the room stealthily. He didn't even notice when she crawled on top of the covers and sat next to him. She stayed that way for a minute and then brought her face very close to his; Icabod was still lost within his own mind.

"Good morning, Icabod." Helen whispered as quietly as she could into his ear.

"Good morning, Katrina." Icabod replied a slight smile playing with the corners of his mouth.

Helen suppressed a giggle, so she'd have a little fun, what could it hurt?

"It's a beautiful day today, isn't it?" Helen asked him carefully changing her voice to sound more like Katrina's had.

"Sure is. Uncharacteristically beautiful for Sleepy Hollow. Don't you think so, my love?"

Helen blushed a little, "Sure is, but Icabod, you should really open your eyes to greet it."

"I don't want too." Icabod said as he sighed.

"Why not?" Helen brought her face a bit closer to his.

"I must be dreaming." Icabod felt a little bit sad that this dream was so good.

"What do you mean?"

Icabod turned his face to Helen's, his lips accidentally brushing hers, he paused before he voiced the reply he was about to voice, something wasn't right, and "You can't be real."

Helen went as rigid as a statue, a deep blush spreading across her pale cheeks slowly; she remained silent, hardly daring to breathe.

"Can you?" Icabod opened his eyes slowly, almost mockingly; his eyelashes fluttered briefly as the bright sunlight hit his eyes again, he was expecting to see Katrina, but instead he was greeted by Helen's startlingly silver eyes, the various shades of gray sparkling in the sunlight brilliantly, "You're not Katrina!" He shouted, backing away from her quickly, "Get away from me!" He told her firmly, pointing at the door and gathering the blankets up near his face, "Now please!"

Helen's heart-shaped face seemed to crumple up as she slowly got off of the bed and walked to the door, she turned around just before leaving and looked at Icabod, "I'm sorry, Icabod. I was only joking around. I didn't mean to scare you or hurt your feelings." She said evenly and then was gone. Icabod got up and dressed quickly. He felt utterly violated, and rather embarrassed.

He was walking into the yard to get Gunpowder when Admiral raced across his path, the stallion barely avoiding trampling Icabod in the process. Helen chased after her horse, the leather halter and lead rope dangling from her right hand. Icabod stopped walking and watched as Helen chased her horse around the lawn. Suddenly the horse turned and reared, and then he stood absolutely still. Helen stopped running and approached the large animal slowly, the halter outstretched.

Admiral tossed his head wildly, stamping an iron shod hoof in the dirt. Helen stopped walking forward and backed up slowly, lowering the halter and setting it on the ground. She turned and ran, the horse whinnied and raced after her, Icabod watched in horror as the huge animal bore down upon Helen's comparatively small figure. Helen stepped to the side, turned and in one fluid motion, grabbed a handful of the black horse's long mane and leapt onto his back. Admiral slowed to a canter and then a trot and eventually a walk and finally a complete stop.

Helen laughed loudly and patted the horse's gleaming shoulder lovingly, "Good boy, Admiral. You didn't step on my skirt that time."

"Helen!" Doctor Michael Roberts came riding up quickly; he drew his white horse to a stop next to Admiral, "What in the name of God did you think you were doing? You could've just ruined all of mine and Elizabeth's hard work on that shoulder of yours." He admonished.

"I think I was having a bit of fun with my horse, Michael." Helen pouted a little bit; Admiral stretched his head out and sniffed at the other horse's neck curiously.

"Did you stop to consider that your horse could quite easily kill you?"

"May have entered my mind." Helen shrugged and slipped off of Admiral's back, "But as you can see, Doctor, I am quite well. You don't have to stay here any longer, as I'm sure you're quite busy. Far too busy to spend time with anyone but your patients at the moment." Helen curtsied to him and grabbed Admiral's forelock to lead him away.

Icabod walked over to Michael and looked up at him, "Sir? Are you going to leave or not?"

The doctor started and looked down at Icabod, "Huh? Oh yes, she's quite right, I'm far to busy at the moment to even think about stuff like that." Michael turned his horse to go; looking over his shoulder he told Icabod sternly, "You had better keep a better eye on her Icabod. A woman like that, well who knows what kind of man would go after her"

"Meaning?" Icabod asked looking for a bit more straight-forward explanation.

"Keep her safe and away from some of the less desirable men in town. You never know what they'll do when they've had a few drinks. Including myself. Do that for me Constable, please."

"What do you mean, including yourself?" Icabod pried a bit further.

The doctor chuckled a little bit, "Let's just say that I'm not the safest, nor am I the wisest choice for any woman around here. Especially her." Michael jerked his thumb in the direction Helen had gone off in, "Thank you for your services, Constable, but I must be off now." Michael spurred his horse and was gone.

Icabod stared after the doctor, feeling rather confused, "Soooo, he likes her?" Icabod looked towards his large barn and shook his head, "Well he can't have her. Not while I'm around anyway." He told himself determinedly as he headed towards the building.

***

**Author's Ledger: Hello, once again, my dear readers. I do hope you enjoyed the chapter. It was hard to write something without the Horseman making some appearance. I hope it didn't show too much. Now I would like to leave you with some questions and statements to leave you pondering over until next time.**

**1) It seems that our handsome, mercurial, and charming Doctor Michael Roberts feels attracted to Helen, despite his better judgment.**

**2) Helen, though attracted to the charming young doctor, still prefers her more serious Icabod.**

**3) Does Icabod harbor some un-recognized feelings for our fair Helen? Or is it simply the friendly type of protectiveness? Time will tell.**

**4)What was Michael alluding to just before he left? Does this gentlemanly young man have something worth hiding about his character? **

**5) And what of the Horseman? When and who will he strike next? Who was his last victim? **

**Do feel free to speculate, perhaps you'll get it right and be plesantly surprised, or perhaps you'll be wrong and be even more surprised for it. Either way....well it's no concern of mine. So long as you keep reading, I shall not mind in the least bit. Now onto other matters.**

**I would like to inform you all that I shall now be updating on Wednesday's, provided I have had enough time to write enough of this story to merit a new chapter. My minimum for a chapter is two parts (that's what the *** signifiys {spelling?} just so you know), and those have to be of reasonable length. If I'm late, well I simply lacked inspiration or I haven't had the time to write. I take my leave of you now, good bye all.**

**Your Faithful Author**

**Danbamina**


	6. Chapter the Sixth

**Author's Ledger: Hello my fair readers. It's been awhile since my last update, I was busy. Oh so very busy. I thank my reviewers, you all know who you are, and those of you who don't review but read it anyway. Thank you for at least reading it. I do hope you enjoy this chapter, though it may be a little short. Without further ado, and because I'm not feeling my best, here's the next chapter.**

**Your faithful Author,**

**Danbamina**

Helen looked up at the sky, the sun hung low in the pale lavender sky. She wiped a dirty hand across her forehead, pushing back the few strands of ebony hair that had been shaken loose from the loose bun on top of her head and clung to her damp forehead, unintentionally leaving a streak of dirt across it. She'd been outside all day just weeding the garden and she wasn't even half-done yet. Helen straightened up on her knees and stretched her cramped back experimentally. She winced as the muscles strained back into their regular places.

"Much better…." She breathed out as she got to her feet and surveyed her work one last time.

Michael Roberts came cantering up the road towards her as she planned out her activities for the next day's work in the garden. He pulled his white horse to a stop and hopped down.

"Good evening, Michael! Whatever has brought you all the way out here?" Helen inquired as the young Doctor strode purposefully towards her.

"Actually, Helen, you do." Michael admitted taking his hat from his head and wringing it anxiously in his hands.

"Oh? To what do I owe the honor?" Helen brushed a lock of hair from her face, leaving yet another streak of dirt on her pale skin.

"Well. You see…." Michael glanced up at Helen quickly before looking away; he paused and looked back, "You have an awful lot of dirt on your face."

"You came to tell me I have dirt on my face?" Helen thought for a moment and then gasped, "I have dirt on my face! Oh my! You must think me so very poorly raised. Come inside and after I clean up a bit you can tell me the real reason why you came." Helen said hastily, blushing as Michael's eyes lit up with delight.

"No. No. No. It's quite alright. I think it very humble of you to be working in your garden and getting dirty. It says a lot about your character." Michael reached out and grabbed her wrist, "Here." He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her, "May I?"

"Of course." Helen consented and let him wipe the dirt from her features gently.

"There, now your face is dirt free." Michael told her but his hand still remained on her cheek, softly rubbing the skin with his thumb, "You know….this may sound very cliché….but you have the most amazing eyes I've ever seen. Like stars." He whispered quietly, taking a step forward.

"Thank you." Helen replied in the same hushed tone looking into his crystalline blue eyes, was this desirable man really going to try and kiss her? Should she step back? Would that be rude? Was he being rude? Helen's mind was racing as fast as a hummingbird's wings.

"You're quite welcome." Michael took another step forward and stood within less than a foot of her, his hand gently guiding her face towards his. Helen prayed to God that this wasn't a sin. Helen caught a breath of whisky as his face loomed above hers; he was really going to kiss her. She could barely breathe and it seemed her heart was about to jump out of her throat.

"Doctor Roberts!" Icabod's voice came echoing down the path leading to the big house on the hill, "So kind of you to stop by!"

Michael withdrew from Helen quickly and stepped backwards, "Icabod! How are your investigations coming?" He asked politely.

Helen glared at Icabod as he walked over to stand next to her; she moved and stood between Icabod and Michael. Icabod had done that on purpose! She didn't know how she knew it, she just did. And it infuriated her; it was if in that instant of denial she had grown to loathe Icabod and wanted nothing more than to see him gone from the Hollow. She stood glowering, refusing to meet either pair of eyes as they prattled on about the weather and Icabod's investigations.

No. He hadn't had any more breaks.

Well yes, there was that small out break of influenza but other than that everyone was in perfectly good health and not about to die.

The Horseman hadn't been seen in a good two weeks.

Why?

Icabod didn't know and he could only assume that the person controlling the Hessian had returned the Hessian's head to its resting place.

It was getting dark.

Would Doctor Roberts like to stay for dinner?

No he really mustn't, old Mrs. Crowley wasn't feeling very well and had called for him.

Helen perked up and really paid attention now. Something didn't feel right. Was that the sound of a distant scream? She strained her ears, struggling to hear over Icabod's and Michael's voices.

"Oh, do tell the old girl I said thanks for all the useful information, will you?" Icabod was saying.

"I'll be sure to." Michael mounted his horse and tipped his hat to them both before cantering away. The night was silent once again as Icabod and Helen watched the doctor turn around the bend. Maybe Helen had just been imagining things.

"It's late, Helen. Let's go inside." Icabod stated matter-of-factly. The sudden break of the silence caused Helen to jump, "Did I scare you?"

"No. I just wasn't prepared for that. There's a difference." Helen took Icabod's proffered arm and allowed him to escort her back to the house. Completely forgetting about her mud streaked hands.

When they got inside and Helen relinquished her hold on Icabod's white sleeve she looked down at where her hand had been tucked securely around his forearm. It had a perfect hand-print on it. She smiled to herself as Icabod set about stoking the fire and quietly went up the stairs.

As she stood at her bedroom basin, washing her hands free of mud, she heard Icabod's shout of momentary surprise. She snickered and began to dry her hands. Just as she was folding the towel up Icabod came into the room, his dirty shirt hanging from his hands. Helen noted he'd changed his shirt before coming in, and suppressed a laugh as he looked from her clean hands to the hand print on his sleeve.

"Did you…?" Icabod pointed at the hand print, letting his question hang.

"Well look at that. You have a hand print on your sleeve. Want me to wash that for you?"

"But…didn't….you….the garden….yes. Please wash my shirt for me." Icabod held the dirty garment out for Helen to take.

"Of course, I'll wash your shirt for you." Helen told him, taking the garment from his out-stretched hand, "Will that be all, Mr. Crane?"

Icabod looked at Helen for a second before replying, "Yes, Ms. Williams, that will be all."

"Then would you mind kindly leaving my room? I wish to freshen up before supper."

"Of course." Icabod turned and walked from the room. Helen waited until the door was closed before throwing the shirt on a small pile of clothes on one of her chairs and began to get ready for supper. She'd take care of the shirt along with those other garments.

***

Michael Roberts walked into Mrs. Crowley's home, the place was gloomy as always, but the customary, low burning fire was out. A bit odd for the crazy old loon, but then again. She could just be asleep and it had burnt out on its own. Michael scanned the room, seeing no one he went into the adjoining bedroom. He sighed as he noted the state of confusion within the large room; it looked as if a tornado had swept through it.

He ran a hand through his hair and called out for the old woman, "Mrs. Crowley? This is Doctor Roberts. Are you home?" He waited a moment, silence, "Mrs. Crowley? Are you in here?" Michael took a hesitant step forward; the eerie silence of the room was very unsettling to the young doctor's nerves. He wasn't used to this. "Mrs. Crowley!" He demanded sharply, stopping when he was about ten feet into the room, "Now this isn't funny. You come on out and let me look at you. You can't refuse to take your medicine. You'll die without it." Michael paused and squinted at the bed, there was a large, woman-shaped thing laying on it. Either it was pillows or an actual person. He couldn't tell but he was willing to find out. That and the bed was only a little way further into the ominous room.

As Michael drew closer he could make out feet and hands, it appeared her head was buried beneath two pillows, "Mrs. Crowley." Michael said relieved, "Wake up." He reached out and grabbed the shoulder and rolled her over. Michael drew back and dashed from the room. He barely made it outside before he vomited. He stood up and leaned against a column, a doctor should never get sick at gruesome sights. But something about the headless old Crowley disturbed him deeply.

He couldn't place his finger on the feeling but it was almost like guilt mixed with shame and nausea. Yes, it was definitely nausea, but there was something else there too. As he examined his conscience further he ruled out guilt and shame and settled on regret. Though he had no idea what he regretted. But that's the other emotion he felt besides nausea.

Michael steeled himself to go back inside and remove the body and take it to the funeral home. And then he'd go and tell Icabod about it. Icabod should know. Michael thought about Icabod and his investigation as he picked up the stiff body of Mrs. Crowley, and headed for the funeral home with her tied to his horse's back. Did he really want to tell Icabod? Did Icabod even really need to know? Was it important enough? No. He didn't want to tell Icabod. Icabod didn't need to know. And seeing as Mrs. Crowley had no living relatives it wasn't important enough. Best to keep it between him and the mortician what had happened to Mrs. Crowley. After all, who would deny a doctor's say in the cause of death?

***

**Author's Ledger: Well, it seems that I have nothing to say on the chapter. I'm really far more interested in what you all have to say about it. Do let me know by reviewing. Thank you. Until next Wednesday, when I'll be feeling better and more like myself. **

**Your Obedient Author,**

**Danbamina**


	7. Chapter the Seventh

**Author's Ledger: As promised, my fair readers, I have written you a new chapter. I do hope you enjoy it and don't begrudge me the time it took for it to come about. Since you've waited long enough, I'm going to close my mouth and let you read. Good day to you all.**

**Danbamina**

Icabod was at Mrs. Crowley's funeral, something about the doctor's hurried explanation of her death had him worried. As a result he'd shown up at the wake, which had been a closed-casket, odd for simply dying in her sleep. Then he'd gone to the funeral the next evening, a quick little sermon by the good Reverend and then the grave was filled in. It still seemed very odd, even for Sleepy Hollow. Icabod looked down at the little mound of earth that marked Mrs. Crowley's grave and thought over his choices about getting the truth in regards to her death. He could always just exhume the body, which was very highly frowned upon by the locals. He could badger Helen into getting the truth from the "good" doctor; she'd probably enjoy that and come back with absolutely no useful information. Or, he could simply go and talk to the mortician; the mortician would know and would probably tell Icabod.

"Icabod!" Helen's eerily cheerful voice cut through the graveyard's aura of gloom, Icabod spun around, expecting trouble.

"What?" He asked when he realized that nothing was amiss.

"You have a visitor. A lovely young lad who says he's the young Masbeth. Or the only Masbeth. I can't remember which; he changed his mind half-way through his introduction you see…" Helen clamped her hand over her mouth, "there I go again, just rambling on." She paused for breath and smiled at Icabod.

"Masbeth? He's here? Why?" Icabod mused aloud, wandering away from Helen towards Gunpowder, who was cropping the grass from on top of a grave. Icabod picked up the horse's trailing reins and mounted, looking around he noticed that Admiral was not with Helen, "Where's your horse, Helen?"

"Admiral? Oh. I'm not going to ride him for awhile. He's been ridden awful hard lately. You have to balance riding and resting or your horse will just get mean. At least Admiral will. He did it to John once…." Helen bit her lip and looked at her feet, "That's why he was walking home…..before…."

Icabod felt slightly awkward as he looked down at Helen, who seemed on the verge of tears. What was he supposed to do now?

"Well. You best be getting home, Constable." Helen brightened up quickly and started for the road, humming to herself.

Icabod walked Gunpowder over and stopped in front of her; he leaned down and offered her his hand, "We'd get home a lot quicker if you rode with me."

Helen smiled warmly at him, she placed her hand in his and he helped her up behind the saddle, Gunpowder flicked an ear back. Icabod braced himself for the inevitable bucking by closing his eyes and gripping the reins even tighter. Gunpowder simply picked up a nice easy canter and headed for home.

"Looks like you've got Gunpowder under good control, Icabod. You didn't even have to kick him and he's going home." Helen commented patting Icabod's shoulder with one hand and wrapping the other around his waist.

"He is?" Icabod asked in disbelief, it was hardly ever this easy with the stubborn horse, he cracked his eyes open enough to see the road and which way they were heading. Sure enough they were headed for home and at a reasonable rate too. Icabod smiled and laughed triumphantly, "I did it! I got the horse to listen without a fight!" Icabod nudged the horse's sides gently with his heels, "Come on Gunpowder! Let's get home a little quicker." He goaded.

Helen laughed and tightened her grip around Icabod's waist as Gunpowder lengthened his stride. Icabod glanced over his shoulder in surprise as Helen rested her chin on his shoulder, "Hello, Icabod."

"Hi Helen. Nice day isn't it?" Icabod smiled at her, feeling excited about having Masbeth around to help and how Gunpowder seemed to want to listen to him.

"I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten how to smile." Helen told him, "But shouldn't you be watching the road?"

Icabod started and looked forward again, "Quite right." Helen chuckled.

It wasn't long before they arrived back home to see a strange horse with a young man standing by its head tied to the porch railings, Admiral had stopped his grazing from his picket line and kept throwing his hindquarters at the new horse. Icabod pulled Gunpowder to a walk and then a halt. Helen slipped off and walked the rest of the way to the house on foot. Icabod dismounted and walked over to the young man. There was a moment of silence and a polite distance, then the young man came forward and hugged Icabod roughly.

"It's good to see you, sir." Masbeth said his voice hoarse and muffled against Icabod's shoulder, "New York's been terrible since you left."

Icabod patted Masbeth's back lightly, "It's alright?"

"Awww, would you look at that Liz. Isn't it just the cutest thing you've seen in a good long while?" Helen was standing in the door way, leaning against the door frame casually.

"Yes, it sure is, Miss. Now come inside and eat your supper." Liz's voice was distant. Helen winked at Icabod and headed into the house, closing the door behind her.

Masbeth moved away and coughed, "Sorry about that. Don't know what came over me." He apologized and untied his horse from the railings, "I'll just go and put Ghost here up."

"Ghost? He's brown." Icabod commented eying the light chestnut coat of the horse.

"Ah, but there's a story to his name…."

"You should really tell Helen about your horse. She'll appreciate far more than I will." Icabod motioned towards the stables, "You know where everything is. The big stall is Admiral's."

"Icabod! I know you're not going to keep Gunpowder tied up to the porch while you eat." Helen had wandered outside again and was leading an angry looking Admiral calmly past Ghost.

"Yes I was. He's a horse. He can stand outside for an hour while I eat." Icabod replied heading for the door.

"Icabod Crane! You come back here this instant and take care of your horse or I'll see to it that you don't get _your_ supper until you've stood outside for an hour." Helen threatened.

"You're not going to just let me go eat are you?" Icabod groaned, he was so hungry it was actually painful.

"Of course not. Gunpowder is a good horse for you and how do you repay him? By making him stand outside for an hour while you go into the warm house and eat a delicious supper! I can't honestly see how you can have a clear conscience about it." Helen walked away; Admiral took one last, vicious swipe at Ghost as he passed, "Admiral! No sir!" Helen pulled down on the stallion's halter roughly, "That's very bad manners." She added primly, lightly slapping the horse's nose. Admiral lowered his head and walked sedately by Helen's side, "Good boy." Masbeth and Icabod stared after her in a slight state of awe as she headed for the stables.

Masbeth was the first to break the silence, "Is that how it always is with her and that horse?" he asked, looking at Icabod.

"That's how it is with her and _all_ horses, Masbeth, I'm afraid." Icabod sighed, shaking his head and untying Gunpowder from the railings and heading for the stables.

"Why don't you just get her to stop Daredevil then?" Masbeth hurried after Icabod.

"I don't think she can handle dead horses." Icabod replied, "Though it is a good idea. Speaking of the Horseman. I have to go and visit the mortician tomorrow. Care to accompany me?"

"Of course. But why do you have to visit the mortician?"

"Information. I need more information." Icabod stated absentmindedly.

***

The mortician of Sleepy Hollow was a rather portly man who looked a bit like a rabbit. One of the fat, brown ones with floppy ears. People just called him 'M' mainly because he'd never told anyone his real name and that was the first letter of his chosen career. But also because he had a nasty habit of saying 'Mmmmmm' instead of 'yes' and 'no'. He was extremely hard to talk to and only revealed information for money because his memory was "a bit fuzzy" and needed some "clearing up". Icabod had heard of the mysterious M when he first started interviewing people and had him marked down as one of the prime suspects for having control of the Horseman. Icabod didn't bother knocking on the front door, he just went right in. The mortician was sitting at his desk, scribbling away on a sheet of parchment.

"Excuse me, M but I have some questions for you and you're going to answer them without bribes." Icabod announced, slamming his hands on the desk and looking into M's beady brown eyes.

"I wouldn't make a man of the law bribe me. That's immoral." M pushed back his chair and got up, he shoved the parchment into Icabod's hands, "You'll need that later. But for now. I suppose you've come about Mrs. Crowley? Didn't believe the good doctor did you?" Icabod opened his mouth to reply but M cut him off, "I wouldn't have either. You've probably also come to warn me to watch my step because I'm on your list of suspects. You don't have to worry about me in that department. I don't believe in witchcraft so I couldn't have done it." M moved to a cabinet in the corner and pulled out a bottle of scotch and three glasses, "Glad to see you could join us, Masbeth."

"Thank you sir." Masbeth walked over and stood by Icabod's side.

"You gents care for a drink? Mind if I have one?"

"No thank you. We prefer to remain sober when interrogating people. And no. We don't mind." Icabod said quickly, "How do you know so much?"

"Well." M took a sip of scotch, "I'm a mortician. I don't get much business in this hollow, until recently that is, and so I just sat out front and listened. From that I've taught myself to read people. For instance, Masbeth here, he finds your friend Helen attractive. Course he lacks the courage to tell her that he thinks she's very pretty and good with horses. That satisfy your curiosity as to how I know so much?"

"Lies. It's all lies, sir. Sure, Helen's pretty and good with horses but I don't fancy her." Masbeth said truthfully to Icabod.

"Well that's common knowledge lad. Thinking a woman pretty means you find her attractive." M commented.

"Enough of your mind games." Icabod reached up and rubbed his temples for a moment, "How did Mrs. Crowley die? That's all I want to know."

"Would you like it in technical terms or more common speech?" M took a gulp of his scotch and wiped his mustached mouth with the back of his hand.

"I don't care. Which ever one is faster." Icabod sighed; M was very frustrating to work with. If he was controlling the Horseman it was amazing that anyone had gotten beheaded at all.

"Simply put, Constable, her head was lopped off by the Hessian."

"Doctor Roberts said she died in her sleep." Masbeth pointed out, "That's what you told me, Icabod."

"Yes, because that's what he told me." Icabod gritted his teeth, "The filthy liar…"

"She did die in her sleep. Just not peacefully." M cut Icabod off, "He didn't lie. He told you the truth. Just a half-truth."

"Oh shut up." Icabod snapped, "Come along, Masbeth. We're leaving." Icabod spun on his heels and left the room quickly. M was very annoying.

"Where are we going sir?" Masbeth asked as they mounted their horses.

"Home. For supplies." Icabod stated bluntly, as they trotted out of the village.

"Why do we need supplies?"

"Because, we're going to the Western Wood and it helps to be prepared for anything, Masbeth. We may even spend the night." Icabod sniggered, "Camping in the Western Wood. It's going to be so much fun."

"Are you feeling alright, sir? You're acting a bit…strange."

"Of course I'm alright! Why wouldn't I be alright?!" Icabod snapped at Masbeth.

"No reason." Masbeth replied quickly, "No reason at all."

Icabod and Masbeth trotted on towards the large house on the hill. It wasn't far but the silence between them made it seem so much farther than it really was. Masbeth was feeling a bit apprehensive of Icabod in his current, slightly crazed state of mind. But since he felt a certain loyalty towards Icabod he couldn't tell him that he wasn't going to the Western Wood with him. So he kept his mouth shut and his fears and suspicions to himself. At least for the moment it would suffice.

**Author's Ledger: It seems that Icabod has once again been joined by his faithful, if a bit skeptical, "side-kick" Masbeth. Perhaps the investigations will go a bit quicker now that Icabod has another mind to help him. The Western Wood, a very scary place for the residents of Sleepy Hollow, since it is the resting place of the Hessian himself. Has Icabod really lost his mind? Or is he just feeling a bit off color? Perhaps a visit from the doctor will help?**

**Please do review, I've missed the commentary so much. The story will soon be at a close and I'm afraid that my readers are growing bored with it. I should have at most five chapters left to write and at least two. It all depends on how I manage to get the plot to progress as I'm turning several ways to get to the end over in my mind. The longer ones are better but the shorter ones are easier to write. Oh well. I'll probably go with three or four more chapters. It all depends on you, my fair readers. **

**But please, do review. As I've said before, the more reviews I get, the faster I update. This is because you simply inspire me. And that's not idle flattery.**

**Your Faithful Author,**

**Danbamina**


	8. Chapter the Eighth

**Author's Ledger: Hello my fair readers. It's been an awfully long while hasn't it? Ah well, at least I had the chance to write this down. I've managed to update several of my other stories as well. A few sentences here and there and finally this chapter was ready. I have already informed you that I have several other works in progress, though they do not appear here. So since I've managed to write new parts for about four of them I have a sense of pride in myself. But I digress. Allow me to thank my reviewers and readers, who so faithfully put up with the rather sporadic updates. And now, ladies and gentleman, I present to you, the next chapter.**

**Your Faithful Author,**

**Danbamina**

Helen watched as Icabod and Masbeth hurriedly prepared to go into the Western Wood skeptically. The notion was enough to make her laugh. She had to constantly remind herself that this was not funny in the least bit and should be talking him out of it. But something about it caused her to repress the laughter time and time again. She left the room and had a good laugh for a moment as Icabod considered what cutlery to take with him. She came back in the room and forced a politely puzzled look to remain on her face.

"Icabod, dear, you can't be serious about staying through the night." Liz was saying as she removed a loaf of bread from the food pack and re-wrapped it more carefully.

"Of course I'm serious, Liz, this is the only way I can think of to figure out who is controlling the Hessian." Icabod took the loaf of bread back from her and shoved it into the pack, "It would go a lot quicker if you'd stop unpacking my things."

"Icabod. You can go into the Wood, just don't stay the night." Helen stepped forward and placed a hand on Icabod's as he withdrew it from the food pack. Icabod froze and looked into her eyes, a flicker of resignation flashed across his features. Helen smiled, "You don't need to spend the night there, we're not far from it and you can go back early tomorrow morning."

Icabod looked away from her face, Helen waited patiently, he looked back down at her and sighed, "You win. We won't stay the night in the Western Wood."

Helen jumped up and hugged him tightly around the neck, "Thank you Icabod!" She exclaimed excitedly, at least Icabod wasn't going to be killed and now she could take him more seriously.

Icabod patted Helen's back awkwardly, "You're welcome?"

Helen pulled away and straightened Icabod's hair for him, "Your hair is all mussed. Can't have that now can we? It presents a bad image to the public of their dear Constable." Helen finished her mothering and stood back from him, "There. You can go out now and look respectable at the same time! Isn't it just the best thing ever, Liz?" Helen practically squealed out.

"Miss Helen that may be over-reacting a little bit, but it is nice for Master Icabod to look respectable when he goes out." Liz stated calmly as she began to unpack several of the ruck sacks that Icabod and Masbeth had ready.

"Sir, shouldn't we be going now? It's getting dark out." Masbeth asked letting the curtain drop from his hand.

Icabod started and looked out of the window like wise, "Yes. We should be going. Come along Masbeth." Icabod headed for the front door with Masbeth trailing close behind. Helen followed behind Masbeth. Icabod swung up onto Gunpowder and looked down at Helen's anxious face, "I'll be back soon. Don't worry."

"Worried? Who says I'm worried?" Helen crossed her arms across her chest and set a determined look on her face.

"No one."

"Good, because I'm not." Helen turned her back on Icabod for a moment and then turned back around, "You'll be careful, though, won't you?" She reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling him down a bit closer, "Won't you, Icabod?"

"Of course I'll be careful."

Helen narrowed her eyes and pulled him closer to her, "Promise?"

"Yes! Now let go or I'm going to fall off!" Icabod rushed out, Helen let go and watched calmly as he scrambled back into the proper riding position.

"Ahem." Masbeth coughed, Helen and Icabod looked over at him "We'd better be going sir."

"Of course. We'll be back soon, Helen! Liz!" Icabod called as he and Masbeth cantered off. Helen watched as their forms grew smaller and smaller, biting her lip and thinking hard. Something didn't feel quite right about this particular night. It was getting dark far too early. Helen turned and walked slowly away from the house, still deep in thought, completely ignoring Liz's calling about supper.

***

Icabod and Masbeth cantered away from the house on the hill into the deepening darkness. The only thing that broke the unnatural silence of the Hollow was the sounds of Gunpowder's and Ghost's hooves on the packed dirt road leading to the Western Wood. Icabod reached behind him and made sure that the shovel was still attached to the back of his saddle along with his trusty pistol, hatchet and scientist's bag. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't need any of those things, but he also doubted it. Icabod decided to concentrate on getting to the Tree of the Dead. He couldn't really remember the way and didn't want to wander around in the Western Wood aimlessly. It was definitely haunted. And by violent ghosts for that matter. Icabod had put a brave face on for Helen but he was sure she'd seen through it.

"Sir. We're here." Masbeth had pulled Ghost to a halt and Gunpowder had copied the younger horse's movements. Icabod looked up at the imposing mass of trees that made up the border of the Western Wood and gulped. A fog was creeping along the ground behind the trees but not in front of them. Icabod cast a sideways look at Masbeth and gulped again, "Sir, I think we should go in now. The light's fading fast and unless you really do want to stay the night I think it would be best to go on in."

Icabod gulped one more time, "Yes. Let's go in and scope the place out and then head home until morning, shall we?"

"Are you stalling?"

"No."

"Alright then. You first." Masbeth motioned to the small dirt path that wound through the old, barren trees.

"Why don't you go first? You were all gun-hoe a moment ago."

"No thanks, Icabod, I'd feel much safer if you were to go first." Masbeth backed his horse up a few steps and smiled encouragingly at Icabod.

During their pointless argument neither of them had noticed the fog that had lain within the trees creeping out from the trunks like so many spectral fingers to snuff the torches that were lit at the edges of the path. Nor did they notice the distant sound of pounding hooves and a ghostly, high-pitched laughter. Masbeth was the first to notice the distant figure of a single horse galloping down the path towards them from among the trees.

"Sir….I think it'd be best if we got into those trees now." Masbeth stuttered out pointing behind Icabod's head at a thick, but accessible stand of trees.

"If you go first." Icabod replied haughtily, he would not be beaten by a young boy.

"Fine!" Masbeth exclaimed spurring Ghost forward and into the stand of trees. Icabod wheeled Gunpowder around, still oblivious to everything that was occurring and the pair of them darted into the trees just as the Hessian flew past.

Icabod turned and stared, pale-faced at Masbeth, "Did you….?" He managed to ask in a squeaky voice before he fainted against Gunpowder's neck.

Masbeth sighed and skillfully pulled Gunpowder's reins over his head and led the old horse slowly back home, "_So much for investigating the Western Wood at night…._" He thought to himself as they left the stand of trees.

***

**Author's Ledger: One of these days that weak constitution of Icabod's will get him into serious trouble. By the way. Does anyone have any suspicions about who is the culprit??? I'm very interested to know. Because I'm honestly faced with a delimma about that. Should the Horseman be acting of his will? OR should he once again be the instrument of someone's crooked desires? I'm leaning towards the second one myself but....well, it'd be far more interesting if he were acting of his own will, no? I do hope you enjoyed the chapter my lovely readers. I worked hard on it, though the work was scattered through time.**

**Please do review. Reviews make writing this so much more enjoyable. **

**Your Obedient Writer,**

**Danbamina**

**PS: I am very appreciative of your support. I rarely share my work with others because I am afraid of others not enjoying it as much as I do. Though that is not the case here. I have had that happen to me before and I must say, it is very demoralizing. Please understand I am not looking for sympathy or empathy, I am merely sharing a bit of myself with you all. Good day.**


	9. Chapter the Ninth

**Author's Ledger: Good day my fair readers. It seems I've had enough free time to write this week and enough inspiration. I'd like to thank my reviewer (Captain Flying Sparrow) for last chapter. I appreciate the input but I'm afraid that the course you agreed with simply did not fit with the plot I'd already developed. It did not occur to me though before I'd already received your review. I do thank all of you who are reading this for simply reading it. And so it is without further introduction that I leave you to read the next installment of my story.**

**Your Obedient Servant.**

**Danbamina**

Icabod woke up in his own room. He didn't remember coming in here. What had happened? Icabod thought hard for several minutes before it all came flooding back to him. He and Masbeth had gone to the Western Wood, argued, and then the Horseman had shown up, they had gone into a stand of trees and he'd fainted. Icabod groaned, he'd _fainted_…again. He cursed his delicate nervous system as he got out of bed and moved towards the closet to get dressed. His bare feet stung on the cold wood floor, the small amount of pain quickly clearing the rest of his mind. Icabod surveyed his wardrobe critically. Everything was almost exactly the same. The only differences to be found in his wardrobe consisted of buttons, stitching and shapes of pockets. The same color palette and cuts permeated his clothes. Icabod thought for a moment on these new revelations in his fashion sense, shrugged and pulled a black coat, white shirt, dark pants and black boots.

Icabod dressed carefully, fussing with his boots more than usual and dusting his pants free of every piece of dust and lint visible. Icabod was starting to pull his shirt on when Helen came in with a breakfast tray in her hands. Icabod stared at her, frozen in place with his arms in the sleeves and the shirt pushed half-way up his forearms. Helen stared, wide-eyed back at him, completely still. Icabod blinked slowly at her. This simple action of his seemed to restart Helen's abilities to move and speak.

Helen dropped the tray as her hands flew up to cover her eyes "I'm so sorry Constable! I didn't know you were awake and getting dressed." She explained quickly backing from the room and running into the wall several times before she found the door and slipped away. Icabod stared after her for a moment before finishing putting his shirt and the rest of his clothes on. He wasn't so meticulous about it now.

Icabod went over to where the tray had landed and gathered the shattered glass and bits of food that had gone flying everywhere when it had hit the ground. He stood up and brought the tray with him to the kitchen, being careful not to spill the mess again. Helen was coming back up the stairs with downcast eyes and a red face, a broom and dustpan in her hands now. Icabod felt a smile of amusement barely tug up the corners of his mouth as he let her pass by. There was still a small mess that was too small to be picked up by human hands alone. Icabod entered the kitchen to find Elizabeth laughing as she prepared bread. Icabod set the tray of ruined glass and food on the counter and walked around in front of Elizabeth.

"Liz." He said placing his hands behind his back and straightening his posture, "What are you laughing about?"

Liz looked up at Icabod, smiled and started laughing harder, "It seems Helen caught you in the process of getting dressed. She came down here all flustered and babbling something about how manners matter and being polite." Liz told him between fits of laughter, "The poor dear, never seen a man without a shirt on. Had no idea what to do with herself." Liz stopped laughing and looked sternly at Icabod, "She's a good girl, she is, and I don't want you to make her feel bad about all this, you hear?"

Icabod raised an eyebrow at Liz and shook his head. Liz was so…well, she was Liz. There was no other way to describe her. He took a piece of toast with butter from a plate and left the kitchen. Helen darted past him and into the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder to see Liz laughing again. _He_ shouldn't make Helen feel bad? Icabod shrugged mentally and went upstairs to locate Masbeth.

Masbeth was in his room, making his bed. Icabod stood just inside of the open doorway and rapped a knuckle loudly upon the wood. Masbeth's head jerked around and a smile split his face in two as he realized who was in his doorway.

"Glad to see you've woken up, sir." He said cheerily throwing a pillow onto the bed and walking over to stand next to Icabod, "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Icabod thought for a brief moment, "We need to think about the crimes and such. Care to help me?"

"Of course, sir, but how can I help? I can't rightly read your mind."

"You can listen and think on what I say."

Masbeth nodded and motioned to the stairs, "Let's get going then."

***

Icabod crawled around the floor of his room, scraps of paper with all the residents of Sleepy Hollow written on them were scattered around him. He'd piled the deceased by way of Horseman in one corner and suspects in another, possible victims in still another and possible suspects in yet another. Masbeth was perusing the family trees of the victims to see if there was any connection at all with any of the victims. Icabod rocked back on his heels and sighed, none of it added up.

"Well the Robertson's, Roberts (excepting the Doctor) and Thomas's weren't related except by a pending marriage between Mary and John. But that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon as Mary wasn't much older than fourteen." Masbeth commented slamming the book closed and stretching.

Icabod bit his lip and thought, "Then there's something else that connects them all." He reached inside of his coat and pulled out a scrap of parchment that had been rubbing against him and making him itch. He looked at it, it was the scrap of parchment that M had given him. Icabod unfolded it and with a small amount of difficulty managed to make out the messy hand-writing, "L-o-v-e." He said each letter separately.

"Love?" Masbeth asked, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"There's more, be patient. This is hard to read." Icabod squinted at the thin black lines that made up the letters, "I-n-s-u-l-t-s. A-n-g-e-r. J-e-a-l-o-u-s-y. Now it's completely illegible. It's just an uneven line from there." Icabod sighed, "So much for a helpful clue. He could've written neater."

"So that's what M gave you?" Masbeth asked getting up and peering over Icabod's shoulder, "Love. Insults. Anger. Jealousy. And indecipherable letters that just look like a line?" He snorted, "Some help."

Icabod wasn't listening, he was thinking. Love. Who was desirable around here by the majority of single men? The only single, young woman, "Helen." Icabod stood up and wrote her name in his ledger. He scribbled the word LOVE in it as well. Dropping his pen Icabod began to pace the room, sending the scraps of paper blowing about. Insults? What insults? Icabod's mind flashed through all of his conversations with residents of the Hollow, "I suppose someone insulted Helen and this person got wind of it, got angry and had them killed."

"Ok. So Helen's the root of all of this. She's been insulted, someone's avenged the insults. Why were they jealous though?"

"I don't know. As far as I know Helen never had a caller of any sort while I've been here."

"Well weren't the beheadings happening _before_ you got here?"

"Yes. One did." Icabod scratched a name down in his ledger and continued pacing.

"John Roberts." Masbeth read out and looked at Icabod confusedly, "Who is he?"

"Helen mentioned her 'Dear John' when I first arrived. Why would she call John Roberts her 'Dear John' if he wasn't in fact her Dear John?" Icabod stopped pacing, "Someone was jealous of John for being allowed to call on Helen. They got angry and had him killed. People started insulting her. The person got angry and had them killed." Icabod stopped and bent over his ledger, he drew a picture of a whiskey bottle that came out horribly and wrote the word TAVERN next to it, "The tavern is where all the news is filtered to at one point or another in this town. The eligible bachelors drink at the tavern." Icabod froze and rounded on Masbeth "Masbeth! Do you know what this means?"

Masbeth jumped, startled by Icabod's quick actions "That the culprit is a bachelor who likes to drink?" Masbeth's inflection made the statement a question.

"Precisely! He must be a regular!" Icabod grabbed Masbeth's coat from the bed and threw it at him, "Put that on. We're leaving."

"But where are we going?" Masbeth asked shouldering into his coat as he followed Icabod from his room.

"To the tavern, where else?" Icabod stated as he jogged down the stairs and out of the front door. Helen was riding around the yard on Admiral, still looking rather embarrassed about that morning, "Helen!" Icabod called to her, walking briskly towards Admiral.

Helen pulled the horse to a stop, "What?" She asked quietly as Icabod came to a stop and looked up at her, one hand on the reins and another on the edge of her saddle.

"May I borrow your horse?"

Helen blinked, "Why?"

"I need to get to town and quickly. I don't have time to fight with Gunpowder."

"Why?"

"I think I've figured out who is controlling the Horseman."

Helen was silent for a moment, surprise and relief written on her face, "All right. You can borrow Admiral for today. I'll ride Gunpowder." Helen swung a leg over the saddle and sat sideways in the saddle, reluctant to get off.

Icabod reached up and grasped her wrists gently, "Come on Helen." He coaxed gently, "Time to get off now."

Helen sighed mournfully and slipped off of her horse and into Icabod's arms, she giggled a little as she stepped back from him, "Do you need a leg up?" She asked Icabod looking pointedly at her feet.

"No, but thank you anyway." Icabod stuck a foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of the front and back of the saddle and hoisted himself onto Admiral's back. He looked down at Helen and was stunned by just how large Admiral was compared to Gunpowder.

"Well, good bye Icabod. See you at dinner." Helen patted Admiral's shoulder and walked away as Masbeth walked up on Ghost.

"I'm ready to leave now sir." Masbeth informed Icabod as he continued to walk towards the road.

"Alright." Icabod turned Admiral and trotted off with Masbeth towards the road and town and the tavern. Icabod prayed that he could just make a simple arrest, find the skull, return it to its resting place and not have to go through an ordeal like last time. Though he highly doubted that these things would come about as smoothly as he had planned and prayed for.

***

**Author's Ledger: *adopts British accent* By jove I think he's got it! *drops British accent* So my fair readers, that was the chapter. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. Please, do review this. Thank you ever so much. I do appreciate your time. Until next time then.**

**Your Faithful Author,**

**Danbamina**


	10. Chapter the Tenth

**Author's Ledger: Good day to you all! How wonderful it is to write a chapter. I'm going to thank my reviewers. Captain_Flying_Sparrow and LinaLove, as always, you have inspired me to write yet another chapter for this story and I thank you greatly. This chapter covers plenty of important information and only in 1,181 words (Or so Fanfiction tells me). I do hope you enjoy it as much as I do.  
**

**Your ever faithful and obediant Author,**

**Danbamina**

Helen swept the front porch slowly. Gunpowder was grazing nearby and it seemed he was taunting her. All day he'd eluded capture and she had grown tired of chasing him around and around the yard, so she gave up. She stared moodily at the ornery old horse for a moment before continuing to sweep the porch. Helen looked up as the sound of hooves on gravel reached her ears. Who would be coming over at this time of day? Her unasked question was soon answered as Doctor Roberts rode up and pulled his white horse to a stop. Helen looked up at Michael and smiled warmly at him as he dismounted and walked directly up to her. Michael gripped her around the waist and pressed his lips roughly to hers. Helen blinked at this very forward approach. Michael withdrew and Helen could taste whiskey on his lips and smell it on his breath.

Michael looked shamelessly down at her, "I'm not sorry for that Helen." He told her, his voice husky.

Helen opened her mouth to respond but found her throat incapable of making noise so she closed her mouth and nodded instead.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Michael asked her sternly.

Helen shook her head to clear it, "Um…that was….well, Michael, dear, I don't believe I enjoyed that."

"What do you mean?"

"Michael, you're very desirable, and you can have any girl you want. But see, I'm not just any girl. And frankly, I'm not sure I'm all that attracted to you in the sense that you are to me." Helen tried to explain kindly.

Michael looked away and back at her, he took a step towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, "Perhaps a more gentle approach would help?" He whispered leaning down to brush his lips across her forehead. Helen's cheeks turned bright red.

Helen remained quiet as he kissed her tenderly on the lips; she had to admit this was a bit more pleasurable than his last attempt. He pulled away and lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Helen gave a small startled cry as he hoisted her onto his horse's back and got up behind her.

Leaning forward he whispered into her ear, "I want to show you something. Care to come with me?"

Helen nodded and gripped the coarse white mane in front of the saddle, something wasn't right with the good doctor but she wasn't about to point it out to him. Instead she concentrated on the horse's glassy white neck and not falling from between Michael's arms as the horse cantered easily away from Icabod's home.

***

Icabod burst into the local tavern and stood for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder at Masbeth who gave an encouraging smile. Icabod took a breath and entered the dim one room tavern. The smoke in the room filled his nostrils with its acrid and slightly repulsive smell. He coughed as the smoke stuck in his throat and heard Masbeth cough behind him. At least he wasn't the only one who wasn't accustomed to such large quantities of smoke. He made his way over to the bar where the bartender was wiping down the counter moodily.

"What'll it be for you fellows?" The bartender asked gruffly as Icabod and Masbeth seated themselves on the frayed cushions of the barstools.

Icabod tapped his fingers on the countertop and looked the bartender square in the eye, "I'm looking for the doctor. Has he been in here recently?"

The bartender leaned down to get on eye level with Icabod; he ran a skeptical eye over Icabod, "Why?"

"We need to speak with him. It's urgent." Masbeth piped up quickly upon seeing Icabod fumbling for words.

The bartender stood up and smiled warmly at them, "If that's the case you just missed him. He left about a half-hour ago."

Icabod groaned inwardly, "Did he say where he was going?"

"He told me he was going to call on some lady friend of his." The bartender shrugged and scratched his chin for a moment, "I believe he said her name was Helen. But I could be wrong. He'd had some whiskey and his words were all jumbled together." Icabod's eyes widened in horror and he looked over at Masbeth to see the same look of despair written all over the young man's face.

"Well, sir, I suppose we'd better head on out." Masbeth told Icabod shakily, "Thank you very much Mister." Masbeth got up and pulled Icabod from the smoke filled tavern. Icabod followed in a daze, as he came into the cool, crisp air outside of the tavern his senses came back to him.

"Get on your horse Masbeth. We're going home." Icabod swung up onto Admiral and leaned close to the horse's ear and whispered nervously, "Helen is in trouble, Admiral, she needs you. Go home fast as you can."

"Why aren't we going to Doctor Roberts's house?" Masbeth asked as he mounted Ghost and gathered his reins up.

Icabod didn't answer just dug his heels into Admiral's sides and hung on as the horse leaped forward and into a spectacular gallop. Icabod could hear Ghost's hooves pounding along behind him but all that mattered was getting back to the house. He hoped that Helen had managed to catch Gunpowder and had gone somewhere and Doctor Roberts had simply gone home. But deep in his gut he knew that it was highly unlikely Helen had even attempted to go anywhere without her own horse to ride. Traveling as fast they were they reached the house quickly. Icabod jumped from Admiral and rushed inside the big house.

"Helen!" He called rushing around the bottom floor quickly, "Helen!"

"Mr. Crane!" Liz came barreling from the kitchen crying.

"Liz! Where's Helen?" Icabod caught Liz by the shoulders and looked into her glistening eyes sternly.

"Doctor Roberts came to the house. He took her. I thought it would only be for a short while but they haven't come back! It's not like her to be gone this long." Liz lamented, slumping against Icabod's chest, "You have to find her, sir. You just have too. I don't know what I'd do without her. She's like my daughter, she is!" Liz sobbed into Icabod's shoulder.

Icabod stood in a state of shock, unable to think or do anything. He let Liz continue to rant on and on about him finding Helen. The horrible truth of the matter was that Helen was gone and he had no idea of where Michael might have taken her. It seemed that Helen was doomed to be stuck with a possible mad-man. The very thought of her being stuck in some high-cold tower of solitude with no one but Michael Roberts for company was enough to make him want to cry. One though pervaded his mind. _This has to end. __Tonight__._

***

**Author's Ledger: OH MY GOODNESS! Michael had better thought of some wonderful hiding place for his little "_prize",_ so to speak, because Icabod is out to get him now. I can't wait until you all get to see my carefully formulated--though still in progress--ending. That'll be coming soon. Most definitely not next chapter but perhaps the one after that. Please review this chapter. Grazie.**

**Your Grateful Author,**

**Danbamina**


	11. Chapter the Eleventh

**Author's Ledger: Hello my fair readers! I am proud to say that this is the next to last installment in Icabod's saga. I would like to inform you that this has been finished for quite some time, but my internet was down and I had to wait for my father to come home before it could be repaired. I thank all of my faithful readers and especially my reviewers, you have made this so much more enjoyable for me. As you are all undoubtedly anxious to find out what happens, I leave you to read. Good day.**

**Danbamina**

Helen looked at her surroundings. She was in the Western Wood, but where exactly she had no idea. A small hut had been set into the side of a rock outcropping. She slowly got to her feet, her head felt strangely fuzzy. Leaves and twigs stuck to her velvet dress, she brushed them off as she further analyzed her situation. The gnarled branches of the barren trees gripped at her hair and clothes as she pushed her way to the clearing that the hut and rock outcropping were located in. She stumbled and let out a startled cry. But someone caught her around the waist.

"Careful, my love." Michael told her setting her on her feet again. Helen could smell whiskey more strongly on his breath and clothing now. She stepped around him cautiously and peered at the hut, it looked kind of cozy.

"What's in there?" She asked him pointing at the hut.

Michael laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "Come on and I'll show you."

"Why can't you just tell me?" Helen paused and thought for a moment, "Or is it a surprise?"

Michael nodded and smiled sweetly down at her, "Yes, it is a surprise and we wouldn't want to ruin it, now would we?"

Helen shook her head and stepped from under his arm, the constant need he had for physical contact was starting to irk her. She wished Icabod was there, and then maybe Michael wouldn't be acting the way he was. Michael closed the distance and took her hand in his. Helen sighed and allowed him to hold it, why bother? He guided her gently towards the small hut, taking his sweet time about it.

Helen let her mind wander as Michael babbled about the surroundings and the beauty of the place. Helen's mind was at the house on the hill with Icabod, Liz and Masbeth. She wondered what they were doing at the moment. Were they out looking for her? She didn't know but she hoped they were.

"Here we are. Come on inside, Helen, my love." Michael pulled Helen into the dim, dirty interior of the "cozy" hut. Helen gagged as the smell of the place hit her full in the face. She could taste it, metallic and slimy, all in her mouth. She covered her nose and mouth quickly.

"Shouldn't you open a window or something?" She asked her voice more nasally than usual as she pinched it closed.

Michael nodded and opened a window, staring in a sloppily sweet way at Helen as he did so. Helen looked around as the mid-day light flooded into the house. The light spread over the muddy floor and into every corner except one. Helen peered curiously into that particular corner and noticed the reason for the stench that pervaded the air and what exactly it was, rotting flesh. Human heads sat piled neatly in the shadowy corner, staining the surrounding ground with blood, and inevitably causing the floor to be muddy. Helen struggled to keep her gag reflex under control as she headed swiftly for the door.

Michael barred her way; she covered her mouth, lowered her head and barreled into his soft stomach. Their combined weight sent the flimsy wood of the door crashing down. Helen recovered quickly and ran into the woods. The fresh air calmed her churning stomach enough to where she didn't feel the need to regurgitate any longer.

Helen leaned against a white-barked tree, the horror of what her latest discovery meant slowly sinking in. Michael had been the one to cause all the deaths. Helen looked hopelessly at the bright blue sky that seemed to mock her from above the twisted and gnarled branches of the woods. Helen cringed as she heard Michael blundering around in the woods nearby.

"Wherever you are, Icabod, come and find me. Please." Helen breathed as a few tears leaked reluctantly from her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, "I need you." Helen brushed at her cheeks and stepped from behind the tree and into Michael's line of sight, squaring her shoulders she went to him.

"There you are! You can't just go running into these woods. The Hessian could be lurking anywhere." Michael chuckled wickedly, "But you don't really have to worry do you? Not so long as you're with me."

Helen took his hand in hers. Repressing the shudder of disgust and looked up into his kind, clear blue eyes. They were clouded by the whiskey and his beautiful brown hair was mussed and had twigs and leaves stuck in it, "You shouldn't go about like that….dear. Let's go back to the clearing and stay away from the hut and I'll clean you up. How about that?"

Michael smiled warmly at her and kissed her on the mouth for a long moment, "Of course, my love, my darling, my Helen." Michael led her away through the trees and Helen concentrated on the image of Icabod riding to her rescue with Masbeth in tow. She could only hope, but she didn't dare to. It could easily all be naught but ash.

***

Icabod quickly saddled Gunpowder, Admiral's reins dangling from his hand as he did so. He was glad that the old draft horse was cooperating with him. Perhaps the animal sensed the urgency and tension that pervaded the air. Icabod didn't know and didn't really care; he got into the saddle and looked over at Masbeth who was just mounting Ghost. Masbeth looked over and nodded tersely. Icabod returned the gesture and brought Admiral's large head close to his own face.

"Listen to me, Admiral, Helen is somewhere in the Western Wood. We need to find her and quickly. Can you do that?" Icabod wasn't sure if the horse actually understood but Admiral made a bobbing motion that was as close to nodding as a horse could get and Icabod looped the reins over the black horse's head, tying them to the top of the bridle so he wouldn't trip, "Then go and find her."

Without another word Admiral cantered off, Icabod and Masbeth spurred their horses after Admiral. The large stallion kept to an easy pace until he reached the Western Wood, where he froze. Icabod and Masbeth pulled their horses to a stop and looked at each other worriedly, was it really a good idea to let a horse find a missing girl? Admiral flicked his ears this way and that, Icabod noted that the horse seemed to be trying to catch the wind in his nostrils. Suddenly, Admiral snorted and galloped off into the woods. Masbeth was the first to react and was in a second behind Admiral, Icabod right after.

Icabod ducked under branches that reached out to try and unseat him from Gunpowder's broad back with greedy, scratching fingers. Ghost's hindquarters rose and fell in front of Gunpowder's nose quickly as the trio raced at break-neck speeds along a winding path. Icabod stopped trying to pay attention to his surroundings and focused on Ghost's chestnut rump. He could hear Admiral's great, thundering stride just ahead of Ghost's lighter strides and Gunpowder's own loudly thudding strides. The combination of these sights and sounds put him into a sort of trance as they wound their way farther and farther into the Western Wood.

Icabod was almost thrown from Gunpowder as the horse balked to an abrupt stop behind Ghost and Admiral in a clearing. Hurriedly straightening himself, Icabod glanced at Masbeth. Masbeth raised a finger to his lips slowly and pointed at the white horse picketed on the far side of the clear, grazing calmly, still fully tacked.

"Is that Michael's horse?" Icabod whispered, not one for remember horses and owners.

Masbeth shrugged, "Who else owns a white horse in Sleepy Hollow, sir?"

"I don't know of anyone else. So then it would be safe to assume that it is, in fact, the doctor's horse." Icabod stood up in his stirrups and peered into the surrounding woods curiously, "He must be nearby."

Masbeth nodded and put a finger to his lips again, "Shhh. He'll hear you."

Icabod sat down in his saddle and tightened his reins and looked at Admiral, "I wonder why Admiral stopped running. Helen isn't here." He mused aloud.

"Shhh! I'm sorry, sir, but you have to be quiet or you could ruin the element of surprise." Masbeth cautioned sternly.

Icabod decided against saying 'sorry' and stared at Admiral in quiet. It wasn't long before a man appeared on the edge of the trees on the other side of the horse and thus remaining completely oblivious to the people and horses across from him. Icabod looked anxiously at Masbeth, and then squinted at the man. It was Michael Roberts, digging through his saddle bags in a hurried fashion. Icabod's eyes widened as the doctor pulled a human skull from the bags and rubbed a handkerchief over the cranium, carefully polishing it.

"Helen will be impressed by this, my dear Hessian." Michael told the skull in a loud whisper that carried clearly to Icabod and Masbeth.

Admiral whinnied loudly and charged forward towards the doctor before Icabod could do anything about it. Masbeth cursed and kicked Ghost into a run, but the tired animal wasn't able to catch up with Admiral. Icabod dug his heels cruelly into Gunpowder's sides and felt the stocky horse leap into a full gallop beneath him. Icabod bent close to the horse's surging neck and urged the Gunpowder to greater speeds. Icabod was gaining ground; he could hear Admiral crashing through the thick brush and tree limbs. HE caught sight of Michael running clumsily through the trees ahead with Admiral close behind. If it weren't for the impeding underbrush, the stallion would've trampled Michael by now.

Icabod yelled at Gunpowder and the horse went a little faster, drawing up behind Admiral. Quite suddenly, they were in another clearing, this one smaller than the first with a little hut set into the side of a rock outcropping. Michael was darting into the hut and Admiral was racing for the dwelling. Icabod pulled Gunpowder to a stop just outside of the trees and watched in horror as Admiral reared up and pounded his hooves against the door, screaming as only a stallion can.

Icabod dismounted and looked Gunpowder sternly in the eyes, "You stand here. And don't you move." He instructed firmly and left the old horse to stand sedately in the designated spot. He approached Admiral slowly, with one hand outstretched. Icabod dodged under the flailing hooves and grabbed Admiral's head, pushing the horse from the door, "Easy, boy. Whoa…" Icabod soothed the irate horse gently, stroking the muscular shoulder as he pushed the horse farther from the barely intact door, "Now you stand here." Icabod stated firmly before returning to the door.

Masbeth trotted up on his tired horse and dismounted quickly, coming to Icabod's side, "What are we going to do now that he's in there?" Masbeth asked in a barely audible whisper.

"Go in and get Helen. Admiral nearly broke this door down for us." Icabod replied, at that moment the door decided to fall inwards. Icabod gasped, leaned to the left and vomited as the smell of rotting flesh hit him full in the face. He stood up to see Masbeth do likewise.

"You sure we don't want them to come out here, sir?" Masbeth asked in a strained voice between coughs.

Icabod nodded and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, "I'm sure. Come on." Icabod went bravely into the interior of the little hut. Something told him that something sharp was being flung at his neck; he ducked and punched out with his right fist. Icabod felt something soft give way beneath the pressure of his fist. A grunt of pain and a triumphant shout from Masbeth told Icabod they'd both hit the same thing.

A light flickered to life somewhere and Icabod noted Helen shakily holding a small, tallow candle and staring, wide-eyed at Icabod and Masbeth. Icabod looked down to see Michael curled up on the floor, massaging his stomach and jaw. He stood up and went over to Helen.

"Helen, thank God you're all right." He breathed out; taking in the terrified look on her face, "Well, mostly." He added, shrugging.

Helen shook her head, "No. I'm not."

"Why's that?" Masbeth asked, knotting a bit of string around Michael's wrists.

"He's coming." Helen whispered shifting her gaze between Icabod and Masbeth, "He's coming for you two. You have to leave, now, get as far away from here as you can!" Helen set the candle down on the window sill and pushed at Icabod's chest, "Go on! He's coming for you!" She cried as Icabod took an involuntary step backwards.

"Who's coming?" Icabod asked, confused, "Helen, it is over. Don't you understand? We caught him. No more Hessian prowling about."

"The Hessian is coming! He's coming for you. You need to run. Now!" Helen shouted hysterically, pushing harder against Icabod and causing him to take another step backwards.

Icabod reached up and gripped her wrists firmly in his hands and shook her roughly, "Stop it Helen! There is no more Hessian! We stopped Michael from controlling him any longer." Icabod tried to reason with her.

Helen shook her head, "That's what you think. But Michael did call him. Sent him after you two." She whispered, looking at her hands soberly. Icabod felt his eyes widen in a sort of frozen terror.

"Where is the skull?" Masbeth asked as Icabod stood frozen, staring at nothing, "Helen, where is the skull?"

"What skull?" Helen asked, looking over Icabod's shoulder at Masbeth.

"The Hessian's head. Where is it?" Masbeth repeated slower.

"Somewhere in here. I didn't see where he put it in the dark." Helen said.

Icabod wrested himself from his frozen state and whipped around to face Masbeth, "We have to find it." He nearly shouted, "Now!" Icabod ran into a corner and dug through the various items there furiously. No skull. He leaped for another corner and rifled through the bits and pieces of clothing that resided there. No skull.

"Gross!" Masbeth exclaimed disgustedly, stepping away from the third corner with at the skull in his hands, it was absolutely covered in blood. Icabod could see why, it had been buried in a pile of heads.

"At least you got it." Icabod intoned, fighting the urge to faint as Masbeth wiped the skull on his coat.

Helen shook her head in dismay, "What good is that going to do? He's still going to chop your heads off." She stated dismally.

Icabod sighed and took the skull from Masbeth, "This is the reason why he chops heads off, Helen. When he gets it back, he has no more reason to be in this world." Icabod started to explain.

"So, when he gets it back on his head, he goes back to his grave." Masbeth finished for Icabod, "Isn't that right, sir?"

Icabod nodded and tucked the skull securely under his arm, "Correct, Masbeth. Shall we go wait for him, then?" Masbeth and Helen nodded and they all three left the hut, dragging Michael behind them.

Helen looked over her shoulder at the sour-faced Michael and asked, "Why are we bringing him?"

Icabod shrugged, "Perhaps the Hessian would care for some company."

Masbeth chuckled darkly, pulling Michael over a large bump in the ground roughly, "Like last time, eh, sir?"

"Well, to a degree. At least, that's what I'm hoping for. Criminals are so hard to deal with in this world. And I'm sure the Hessian has his own forms of punishment for grave robbery." Icabod replied, a feeling of guilt building in his stomach. He realized that his current actions weren't really meshing with his true self, but what he said was true. If it happened that way, then it couldn't really be helped.

Helen looked at Icabod, "What do you mean by that?"

"Last time, the Hessian took the person who stole his head back with him to the grave." Masbeth informed Helen calmly, "She got what she deserved, really. She's the one who cursed him to begin with."

Icabod stopped walking and looked at Helen, concerned about her. She was staring, wide-eyed with terror at Icabod and Masbeth, her hand over her mouth and appeared to be breathing unnecessarily hard. Icabod walked over to her and placed a hand gently on her shoulder "Are you alright, Helen?"

Helen shook her head and stepped away from Icabod, looking down at Michael, "You can't blame him. He's not right in the head when he's been drinking." She whispered.

Icabod stared, dumb-struck at her for a moment and blurted "Are you being serious? Helen! He's been having people murdered just so he could have you as his own. Do you really feel sympathy for him?"

Helen nodded, "Just because he had people killed doesn't mean he has to be, Icabod. Is that justice? What if he was your mother and had been doing the same thing to get your father? Would you have had her killed too?"

Icabod felt as if she'd punched him in the stomach, he was silent, the memories of his own mother's horrible death playing through his mind. He shuddered and looked involuntarily down at his palms, the evenly spaced indentations seemed to stand out more now than ever. It wasn't fear or regret or any other emotion that he was experiencing, more of a restlessness, a heightened sense of his surroundings. The sound of the horses pounding their hooves and snorting impatiently, the wind in the trees, the feel of his clothes rubbing against his back, the way the woods brightened momentarily when the sun peeked from behind a cloud, and the smell of the damp earth underneath his boots all seemed so much more significant and clear to him at that moment than they really were. He stared at Michael lying on the ground with Masbeth's hand firmly hooked under his shirt collar and his legs splayed out before him. Icabod looked up at Helen and shook his head slightly.

"No. I wouldn't have." He breathed out. Helen nodded and brushed past him to go stand next to Admiral.

"Sir?" Masbeth asked tentatively, touching Icabod's shoulder with his finger tips, "I think it's time to go."

Icabod bent down and removed the string from his wrists, "If you can get away, get away. Hurry up now. I won't follow you." He instructed before standing up and wrapping the string around his fingers and heading for Gunpowder, "Come along, Masbeth. We've done all we can."

"But, sir…you're the Constable. You're supposed to uphold the law, take him to trial, have him sentenced and all that." Masbeth stated quickly, "Not let him go."

"I know that, Masbeth. He won't get far if the Hessian doesn't want him too." Icabod said coolly as he swung up onto Gunpowder and gathered his reins.

Masbeth reluctantly let go of Michael's shirt collar and got on Ghost, Helen rode up on Admiral to stand next to the two men. They stood still, watching Michael slowly get to his feet, completely unaware of the Headless Horseman standing behind him. Icabod glanced sideways at Helen who was biting her nails nervously as they watched the Hessian pass by Michael and come towards them. Icabod gulped and readjusted the skull in his grip. The edges of his vision were turning fuzzy and black, Icabod's head felt as if it was full of helium. He was viewing the scene from above, the Hessian standing before him, Masbeth and Helen. Waiting.

"Icabod…." Helen hissed, gripping his shoulder painfully. The momentary pain brought Icabod crashing back to his body.

Icabod looked at the skull in his hands for a moment, considering what he should do. It was awfully tempting to keep it, and use it for his own purposes. He looked up at the Horseman, waiting so patiently for his skull back or to kill Icabod. Icabod sighed and held the skull out to the Horseman.

Icabod opened his mouth to speak, but he stuttered, so he closed his mouth and took a deep breath. Icabod started to speak again, this time his voice was steady and decided, "I believe this belongs to you, Horseman." The Horseman swiped the skull from Icabod's hands and placed it on his shoulders.

Icabod watched with a sort of morbid fascination as the muscles, veins, and flesh of the head grew quickly back onto the skull. The Horseman glared at the trio with his piercing blue eyes, he hissed, baring his pointed teeth and then swung his sword around, coming close to Icabod's own head, before galloping off. A few moments later there came a terrified shout that was cut off mid-way, an evil cackle and then nothing but fading hoof beats. Icabod's weak constitution decided that it was time to give out and Icabod fainted, falling sideways off of Gunpowder.

Masbeth and Helen stared at Icabod's crumpled body lying motionless on the ground for a moment. Masbeth heaved a large sigh, swung off of Ghost and picked up Icabod's limp form. He slung Icabod in front of his own saddle and got up behind him. Helen picked up Gunpowder's reins in her left hand and trotted off.

Masbeth readjusted his arms around Icabod and gathered his reins more firmly in his hands, "Curse you and your overly sensitive nerves." He muttered, nudging Ghost forward and following Helen in the direction that they had come.

***

**Author's Ledger: THIS IS NOT THE END! There is another chapter! I wanted to end it here, but I decided that some more closure (sp?) was needed for my readers, regard Icabod and Helen and what-not. Do my readers fully understand how much they mean to me now??? *chuckles* It's not just the self-esteem anymore, it's more like I feel as if I know you in some strange way....ah well, that was slightly creepy. Before I weird any more of you out, I'll go.**

**Your Obediant Author, **

**Danbamina**


	12. Chapter the Last

**Author's Ledger: THE LAST CHAPTER! I thank you all! (especially LinaLove for sticking with me until the very end. You were the main reason this got finished at all.) Enjoy it!**

**Your Faithful and Obediant Author,**

**Danbamina**

Icabod was awake, though he kept his eyes shut. It wasn't because he couldn't open his eyes; it was simply because he didn't want to. He was so tired, and yet he felt like his body could harbor no more rest. A cool something briefly pressed itself to his forehead, he reached up and grabbed it. It was a hand, and from the feel of it a woman's hand, though the calluses along the upper part of the palm, just beneath the fingers weren't really something he was expecting to find on a woman's hands. Icabod let the hand slide through his fingers as his arm dropped. Something tickled his cheeks and he felt his torso being lifted from the bed, his shirt was quickly removed, though a bit awkwardly and a new replaced as quickly as the other had been removed and with a bit more precision. His legs were swung out of the bed next and Icabod shivered as the cooler air hit his bare feet. Whoever was holding him pulled him closer and stroked his hair gently. Icabod felt warmth near his face; he snuggled closer to it, and heard a light giggle. He was thoroughly enjoying this sleepy stupor that he was stuck in.

"Shhh! He's still sleeping. Now come on. We need to change these clothes of his. You can coddle him later." Liz's voice broke into Icabod's stupor.

"Right." Helen's voice said and then Icabod was laid gently down. He felt one pair of womanly hands around his right ankle and another, more work worn hands around his left ankle. Icabod lay very still, what were they doing? Removing his shoes? It was over in a flash, his pants seemed to fly from his legs.

"I can't! You do it Liz!" Helen's voice whispered, laced through with embarrassment.

"You don't mind changing his shirt, but his pants you do. He still has his undergarments on you know." Liz scolded Helen gently, "You can't be so shy when it comes to helping the sick, Helen."

"I know, I know, Liz, but you know how I feel about the Constable…." Helen trailed off and Icabod heard footsteps, "I'll be tending to Masbeth, if you need me."

"What're you doing that for? That boy's absolutely fine; it's the Constable that you should be worrying yourself about." Liz huffed out; Icabod could picture her clearly with her hands placed on her hips and her head cocked angrily to one side, glaring at Helen who was, no doubt, standing in the doorway and looking back over her shoulder teasingly at the older woman.

"Masbeth is absolutely distraught about Icabod, Liz. He deserves to know that Icabod is fine." Helen's voice stated simply, "Now then, I'll go tell him."

Liz sighed and Icabod heard his door close, he felt new pants being slipped on him with quick, deft movements. He felt Liz's strong arms lift him up and place him back under the covers. She was muttering to herself, he couldn't really catch the words but it was something about silly girls. Icabod opened his eyes slowly; Liz was fussing with the bedding, making it perfectly smooth around his legs. He laughed softly once.

"Good morning, Liz." He said, causing Liz to jump and turn quickly around, her hand flying to cover her heart.

"Mr. Crane, sir! I didn't know you were awake." Liz said quickly. She narrowed her eyes and looked suspiciously at Icabod, "How long have you been awake exactly?"

Icabod propped himself up on his elbows and studied Liz, she was obviously agitated that he hadn't made his return to consciousness apparent before, but she was also happy. He shook his head and sighed, "You and Helen didn't have to change my clothes. I could've done that."

Liz's entire, round face turned bright red, "Well, sir, it was necessary because you were dirty and getting the lines all dirty too. I hate washing sheets so I told Helen we should change your clothes, if you were still sleeping…."

"Still sleeping?" Icabod's forehead creased in confusion, "How long have I been asleep?"

"A day and a half." Liz admitted, "Must have been quite a shock that you received."

Icabod swung his legs from under the covers and stood up; he teetered momentarily as the blood rushed from his head to the rest of his body, creating a feeling of vertigo. He clutched his head as it throbbed for a few seconds and his vision returned to normal. Liz had her hands on his arms, trying to push him back into bed. Icabod shook her off.

"I'm fine, Liz." He said firmly heading for the door; he opened it and looked back at her, "I've had enough rest for now." Icabod went down the stairs and into the kitchen where Helen was bandaging a cut on Masbeth's upper arm. He stopped and ducked out before Helen could see him; he tucked in his shirt and pulled one of his coats from the rack by the fireplace in the living room. He slipped it on and smoothed his hair back. Deeming himself presentable, he went back into the kitchen.

When no one noticed him, he cleared his throat, "Excuse me." He said calmly, placing his hands behind his back and looking at Helen and Masbeth's stunned faces, "But I was wondering, what's for breakfast?"

Helen's and Masbeth's faces broke into wide smiles. Masbeth stood up and hugged Icabod tightly before releasing him a second later, "I'm glad to see you're awake at last, sir. We were beginning to wonder."

"Thank you Masbeth." Icabod replied, clapping the young man firmly on the shoulder. Helen stood, with her smile frozen on her face, the bandage she'd been using was dangling limply from her hand. Icabod allowed a small smile to play across his lips and Helen came rushing at him. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, crying.

"I thought you'd never wake up!" She sobbed against his coat, tightening her grip on his neck.

"Why are you crying?" Icabod asked, utterly confused as to how she could go from smiling to crying in a split second.

Helen looked up at him with glistening, silver eyes, clear tears leaving wet tracks down the curves of her cheeks, "I'm crying because I'm so happy that you're all right." She told him, moving her hand to wipe away the tears. Icabod pushed her hand away and brought up his own, he wiped the tears from her cheeks and eyes slowly. Carefully, he bent his neck and pulled her face to his, kissing her softly on the lips.

He pulled back and smiled down at her, "Don't cry." He whispered, "It's all over now." He bent his head again and kissed her more fully, he could tell that this would be a better and longer-lasting relationship than the one he'd had with Katrina as Helen seemed to melt into his arms and kiss. He was even considering staying in Sleepy Hollow with Liz, Masbeth and Helen in the big house on the hill for the rest of his life. Who knew? It could be interesting.

**Author's Ledger: THE END! I suppose that may have been a little out of character for Icabod, but whatever works, works. I do hope you enjoyed the entire story. I enjoyed writing it. And thank you again, to all my readers and reviewers, it has meant the world to me that you have read so faithfully. :D**

**Your Grateful Author,**

**Danbamina**


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